


Night and Shadow

by HisAndHisAlone, yafan92



Series: The High Lord, High Lady, and Spymaster [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, MAAS Sarah J. - Works
Genre: Angst, Erotica, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Play, Prequel, Rough Sex, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29321166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisAndHisAlone/pseuds/HisAndHisAlone, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yafan92/pseuds/yafan92
Summary: Over the many centuries they've known each other, there have been times that Azriel and Rhys have been drawn to each other as more than friends. This is a collection of five times they slept together, plus one time they didn't. If you are new to this series, you may want to start with "Wingspan" then come back to this story!
Relationships: Azriel/Rhysand (ACoTaR)
Series: The High Lord, High Lady, and Spymaster [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901665
Comments: 35
Kudos: 95





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> We are so excited to share this story with you - it's been so much fun to write! There will be 6 chapters total, and we'll post 1 per week on Tuesdays. Hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azriel rescued Morrigan from the Autumn Court a few days ago. He is trying to come to terms with his feelings of grief and betrayal now that he knows what Mor and Cassian have done. Rhys tries to comfort him, but things take a turn for the unexpected.

**_Azriel_ **

My fists pounded into the tree as I tried my best to punch all the way through the thick trunk. It seemed like the rough bark was thirsty for the blood already seeping from my split knuckles.

Thud.

_Cassian, naked, between shapely, parted legs…_

Thud.

_Mor, still and pale as death, a fucking metal spike low in her stomach..._

Thud.

_Her blood on orange and yellow leaves, pooled in the dirt…_

Thud.

I hadn’t slept in days. Every time I close my eyes it’s all I can see, memory and imagination blending into agony. I had just needed to _see_ her. I had just needed to see, with my own eyes, that she was whole. I hadn’t planned to tell her how I felt but it had just started to come out… and she had simply walked away. Mid-sentence, she turned on her heel and disappeared down the hall. And then that _smug fucking bastard_ had been outside when I left, crimson siphons glinting like blood. The fading bruises I could see, even from a distance, didn’t seem like enough. He was lucky Rhys was the one who beat his ass first.

Thud.

I had thought I needed reprieve from the dreams when they were of her body over mine, the feel of her lips. Waking in the quiet hours of the night, hearing the echo of her sigh in my ear and feeling the phantom heat of her. Dreams that made me reach for my cock in the dark, feeling ashamed, and imagine her until I could spill myself and finally drift back to sleep. The dreams that had made it impossible for me to even look at any other female. How quickly I had come to miss those sweet, torturous dreams.

Thud.

My breath misted in front of my face, the tiny crystals forming and then dissipating in the cold mountain air. I didn’t hear footsteps approaching over the sound of my own ragged panting and my fists against splintering bark. Between one blow and the next, strong hands wrapped around my wrists and my arms were wrenched behind my back. I panicked, thrashing, but quickly stilled as my shadows whispered in my ear.

Rhys didn’t speak, he just held my arms motionless as my thundering heart began to slow. I became aware of the throbbing in my knuckles, thin trickles of warm blood tickling down my fingers to drip into the leaves on the ground. _Blood soaked into the ground, speckled on orange and yellow leaves_ \- no.

“Let go of me you bastard.” I hardly recognized my own voice. Rhys’s grip on my wrists remained firm, but his voice was soothing.

“I know you’re mad as hell at Cassian, but this was Mor’s choice, Az.”

This time when I wrenched against his grip, he let go. I turned to face him and I could see sympathy in his eyes. “And that is supposed to make me feel _better_? Mother above, Rhys.” I rubbed my temples, then dropped my hands back to my sides. We stood in silence for a long moment.

“Come on,” he said suddenly, half-turning back toward the camp. “Cassian knows he needs to find somewhere else to sleep tonight. Come back to the house.”

Rhys led the way and I fixed my eyes to his back, not caring to further observe my surroundings on the return trip. Broad shoulders on an otherwise lanky frame bespoke the warrior’s build he was growing into - that we were all growing into. Year after year the three of us remained equal in over-all size, at least in part because most of our training was done together. Both official and… unofficial. Lord Devlon probably wouldn’t consider the three of us brawling to be ‘training,’ but it had helped keep us competitive and fit. Rhys’s wings were hidden tonight, and I felt a little twinge of jealousy as icy needles of air stabbed my own.

I trudged behind him, my thoughts so loud I wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear them.

* * *

My hands had stopped oozing blood by the time we walked through the wooden door of the narrow, two-story house Rhys and his mother occupied near the treeline, and I was grateful we didn’t need to pass through the more densely populated areas of Windhaven camp. The frigid wind had helped stop the bleeding and had either dried or frozen the blood on my hands. Probably both.

Rhys lit the cold hearth with a casual wave of his hand, illuminating the room, and headed up the stairs to his bedroom without a word. I stepped around the kitchen table in the center of the room and rinsed the flakes of blood from my hands in the basin. I dried them carefully, patting my knuckles gently so as not to reopen the wounds. They would probably scar, not that they would even show amidst the mass of burns. I could hear Rhys rummaging around upstairs, so I crossed back to the window and gazed out into the darkness to wait. _How long was I out there?_ I wondered. It had still been daylight when I had seethed my way into the woods.

Light footsteps told me Rhys was returning. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat and arrange my expression before turning to face him. I didn’t think I had done a very good job, but I made the effort nonetheless.

He held a bottle of amber liquid that he had no doubt retrieved from its hiding place in his room. His mother didn’t approve of the three of us drinking unless it was necessary in public, but she had gone back to the House of Wind to spend time with the High Lord, so this house was empty tonight. He retrieved two glasses and poured a generous amount in each. Crossing the small room in two long strides, he handed one to me.

“I’m sorry, Az.” The simple words, and the deep sincerity behind them, cracked the dam inside me and I threw back half the drink in one gulp to try to cover my sudden flood of emotion.

Bad idea.

The liquor seared down my throat and I coughed, sputtering. My eyes watered from the burn I still wasn’t accustomed to, despite drinking secretly with both Rhys and Cassian whenever his mother was away. Rhys took a smaller gulp of his own drink and, to his credit, handled it a little better than I had. This past week hadn’t been any easier for him than it had been for me, the reason the same and yet not. I wiped at my eyes with the back of my wrist, but new tears spilled down my cheeks to replace them.

I saw the exact moment when Rhys realized I was crying.

I tried to hold them in, but they slid down my face, hot and wet. Shame burned in my cheeks and I reflexively tried to pull my shadows around me to hide, but I couldn’t stop them. He stood for a moment, pained and uncertain, but then he set down his glass and closed the distance between us, wrapping his arms around me. I felt him hesitate, unsure what to do with his hands, and I wondered absurdly whether he had ever hugged an Illyrian besides his mother. He settled for lightly resting them against my tightly tucked wings and hugged me to his chest, comforting.

Nobody had ever, _ever,_ hugged me before.

My mother had barely been allowed to see me before I’d been shipped here nearly ten years ago, and though I thought Rhys’s mother had wanted to embrace me a few times when we’d been younger, she had seemed to sense that I didn’t want to be touched. The respect she showed me only magnified my reverence for her.

But this unexpectedly comforting gesture hit me like a physical blow. Resting my forehead on his shoulder, the silent sob that forced its way out wracked my body in a spasm. My wings shifted against the featherlight touch of his hands, and a very different kind of shock shivered through me.

I froze.

_Shit._

This past week had been a fucking nightmare, and my emotions were raw. Months of those torturously sweet dreams crashed into me with the inadvertent stroke against my wings. I slowly lifted my head from his shoulder to meet his gaze, terrified of what I might find there. I could feel every inch of him where we were pressed together, and there was no possible way he was unaware of my immediate erection now straining against him.

_Shit, shit, SHIT._

His eyes were unreadable, but I could see thoughts swirling in their violet depths. I wanted to step back, to break the contact, to conceal the reaction he had elicited from my traitorous body. But his hands were still resting on my wings and if I moved, even to step back, they would stroke against me again. I didn’t dare risk it, because if his touch caused me to make a sound...

Well, at this point, that’s about the only way this could actually get worse.

Rhys considered me and seemed to come to some sort of decision, because I saw the resolve settle into the planes of his face. He shifted, pressing himself more firmly against me with a tilt of his hips. His gaze was focused, boring into mine, studying my reaction as I shivered again. I inhaled a ragged breath and realized I had stopped breathing. He repeated the motion, a question in his eyes, and I groaned.

The sound seemed to answer his unvoiced question, because Rhys slowly slid his hands up my folded wings and held me to him. Tilting his chin, he pressed warm lips against my temple in the exact place I always rubbed when I was agitated. My breath caught.

As soft as a dark breeze, Rhys trailed his lips down from my temple to brush across my cheekbone, through the tracks of my tears. My hands shook where they hung limp at my sides. I had no idea what to do with them, but I didn’t push him away.

The glow of the hearth seemed to dim as darkness began to expand from Rhys, filling the room and plunging us back into night. My shadows reached out, stretching, drawn to his dark essence, but I dragged them back. My breathing sounded painfully loud to my own ears as the room was enveloped by him. His lips trailed lower on my cheek and he broke the contact, bringing his mouth to hover over mine. I could feel the whisper of his breath across my lips, my whole body quaking.

A burst of rowdy male laughter sounded from outside, snapping me back to reality. We were standing right in front of the window! I started to jerk back, but his arms tightened around me, refusing to let me go.

“Gods, Rhys, what if someone sees us?” I hissed the question at him, unsure why I was whispering.

“They won’t,” he responded coolly. “If anyone is even paying attention the house just looks dark.”

I brought my hands up between us from where they had hung uselessly at my sides, and pushed against his chest. He released me, allowing me to take a step back, but I didn’t fail to notice the way he trailed his fingertips against the membranes of my wings as they slid through his hands.

He spooled the darkness back into himself and the wavering hearthlight returned to illuminate the room. I gaped at him. He gazed back, mostly unruffled. Searching for my next words, I ran my hands back through my hair.

“What the hell are you doing, Rhys?”

He looked contemplative and a little nervous. He was making an admirable effort to seem in control, but the mask of The High Lord’s Son wavered on his face and, not for the first time, I wished I had his ability to read thoughts.

“You mean, what the hell are _we_ doing.”

Bastard.

“Fine,” I bit out. “What the hell are _we_ doing?”

A corner of his mouth quirked up at that. “I don’t know,” he said simply.

“You don’t know.”

He shrugged, that corner of his mouth pulling higher into a half-smile.

“I honestly have no idea what I’m doing.”

I waited, and the silence stretched, heavy.

Rhys sighed. “Look. This has been a week that deserves to be damned to the depths of hell. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing except that I wanted to do it. And I thought you liked it. I-” he paused, swallowing. “I don’t… I’m not going to do anything that you don’t want me to do. But I thought…” He squeezed his eyes shut as he seemed to run out of words.

I had no idea what to say. This was not a side of Rhys I had seen before, and this prospect was not something I had ever considered. I hadn’t been interested in any females until the day I met Mor and, since then, hers was the only face I could truly _see._ I had been so absorbed by her that I hadn’t really considered my sexuality any further than that. We were mates, weren’t we? The bond hadn’t clicked into place, but there was no other explanation for the way she consumed my every thought. But could she be my mate if I could be roused by someone else? I didn’t know the answer to that.

Rhys opened his eyes and stared at me, helplessly, and for the first time I really _looked_ at him.

His eyes were the most striking, unusual shade of violet, like the last rays of sun bending around the edge of the world before darkness claims it. Dark, glossy locks hung in shaggy waves around a face that could only be described as beautiful. I was well aware of how the females in the camp titter and blush when Rhys is near, and I know it’s not solely due to his station.

He fidgeted, shifting his weight as my gaze lowered to his chest, and I could clearly picture the long, lean lines of him beneath his loose shirt. We had all seen each other naked a hundred times, but the image forming in my mind made me feel a stirring I had only ever felt for one particular golden-haired female.

I raised my eyes to meet his gaze and set my shoulders. I have no idea what he saw in my face, but he extended a hand toward me, the silent invitation hanging in the air between us.

Almost in a daze, I reached out to bridge the space, laying my hand in his open palm. His fingers curled around mine and he stroked his thumb across the rippling skin on the back of my hand, carefully avoiding my tender knuckles, no hint of revulsion in his eyes. He tugged, and I followed him up the stairs, down the short hall, and into his bedroom. The small window here was covered, thank the Gods, and I left the door open behind us to help illuminate the cramped space.

Everything in this house was modest but comfortable, and Rhys’s bedroom was no exception. A bed large enough for two people (or for one half-Illyrian heir who wanted to sleep with his wings out) dominated the narrow space flanked by a pair of plain, diminutive side tables. His room had changed very little throughout the years he and his mother had lived here; a few trinkets and keepsakes had come and gone, but otherwise the room remained constant. Rhys stopped by the side of the bed and turned to face me, still holding my hand in his.

He tugged me closer, until our bodies were nearly flush and I could feel the heat of him radiating against my skin in the cooler room. He leaned in slowly, giving me plenty of time to turn away or step back. I did neither.

My first kiss was barely a brush of his lips against mine and then he was pulling back to read my face again in the dim light. We stared at each other, unmoving.

“What-” I cleared my throat, hating that I sounded almost breathless.

His mouth was on mine again, suddenly, and my question died in my throat. This kiss was not soft. This kiss was _hungry._ Every scrap of pent-up desire barreled through me and I was kissing him back. He released my hand and I reached for him, not knowing what the hell I intended to do.

I kissed him hard. He carefully positioned his hands at my waist, pulling me tightly to him and shifting his hips again. My lips parted and his tongue slipped into my mouth, stroking against mine. He seemed to know what he was doing, not that I could really judge, and I tried my best to match his movements. Our tongues danced as he ground against me, dragging a low moan from deep in my throat, and my hands found their way into his hair, tangling into those shaggy locks at the nape of his neck. I swallowed his answering groan as his kiss grew almost frantic, his fingers digging hard into my hips.

He broke the kiss, leaving us both gasping. His chest heaved against mine for a moment, and then he was backing toward the bed, angling me by his firm grip at my waist. He lowered himself until he was seated on the edge and looked up into my face, eyes blazing.

I froze.

The bed was too real, too immediate. Standing in the main room had been one thing, and standing here in his room hadn’t been _that_ different. But right now, in this moment, that bed held worlds of meaning.

I could feel my face locking down, and Rhys looked pained.

“We don’t do anything we don’t want to do,” he said, obviously preparing for the worst but... hopeful. Typical Rhys. I still hesitated, but where my face had shuttered, his had opened. The masks were gone and the expression he now wore was more vulnerable and unguarded than any I had seen before, and I found myself responding to it. To him. _This is_ Rhys _. Of course he won’t force me to do anything._

He moved back, sliding the rest of the way onto the bed and turning so that his head lay on a pillow. The unspoken invitation in the empty space between us was blatant.

“Unless you wanted to stand there all night,” he teased lightly, easing some of the tension.

And I can’t say what made me do it. It might have been the solid week of alternating nightmares and nauseating insomnia. It might have been the fact that, in remarkably short order, Rhys had become my first kiss, and the first person I can ever remember holding me. It might have been how desperately I needed the escape from the terrible, spiraling nothingness that threatened to swallow me. It was likely a combination of all those things, but I made my decision, climbing onto the bed and settling myself beside him, carefully arranging my wings behind me.

He reached toward me slowly, as though I were a skittish animal he was afraid to startle, but I did not balk again. His hand returned to my hip and he pulled himself closer, leaving a thin slice of space between our bodies. His mouth slowly found mine in the near-darkness and it was my turn to close that distance, arching into him to deepen the kiss.

I could feel the hard length of him pressed against me through thin layers of fabric, and our tongues clashed, battling for dominance. His hand slid up from my hip, slipping under the hem of my shirt, and halted atop the muscles of my stomach.

“Is this okay?” he breathed against my lips. Momentarily beyond speech, I nodded, and his hand slowly resumed its path upward, his mouth recapturing mine. His hand on my bare skin left trails of fire in its wake as it glided higher, raising my shirt to bunch around my chest. The callouses on his palms scraped my skin gently and I wanted _more._

Suddenly impatient, I broke our kiss and sat up to yank off my shirt, whipping it over my head and tangling my wings in the process. Cursing, I twisted one arm awkwardly behind myself trying to free the fabric that ensnared me. Rhys chuckled at my dilemma and sat up, motioning for me to turn around. He deftly disengaged the flaps that closed my shirt around my wings and slid the garment off, tossing it to the floor on my side of the bed. Before I could turn, he ran careful hands from the base of my wings up along the top edge, eliciting another full-body shudder. I snapped my wings closed tightly and whipped around to face him, and that prick _smirked_ at me.

Then his eyes widened, and his gaze swept down my body, seeming to truly drink in my features for the first time despite the low light, as I had regarded him only a few minutes ago. He gestured vaguely toward his own shirt and it vanished. I blinked at him, some of my uncertainty creeping back in. But he reached for me, his large hand guiding me to lay back on the bed again as he resumed his exploration of my bare flesh.

“Why did you even bother with the flaps on mine, then,” I grumbled rhetorically.

“Maybe I wanted to be the one to take that off.”

He was leaning over me propped on an elbow, and the tan, smooth skin of his chest drew my touch like a lodestone. Almost without realizing what I was doing, I raised my hand to touch him. Reality clanged into me once again as my scarred hand met Rhys’s perfect golden skin and I flinched back in horror as though _he_ was the fire and the oil.

His face was pure devastation and his hand lifted to nest around my own. He pressed my palm flat against his chest. “I want you to touch me,” he whispered, pressing harder for emphasis. I didn’t recognize the long, low moan that rumbled up in my chest, but Rhys’s lips were back on mine in an instant, devouring the sound. The movement pressed our bare skin together and the heat of him seared into me from neck to navel. It overwhelmed me and I reflexively lifted my hips into him. He pressed back, grinding against my hardness as his mouth claimed me.

Our rolling hips gradually established a rhythm, his kiss consuming me until there was nothing but the darkness and his lips and the friction that was slowly, deliciously, driving me insane. He came up for air again, gasping, and I realized we were both shaking. He trailed his unsteady hand down to the very top of my belt and then stopped with his fingertips against the edge of the buckle.

His eyes were shouting the question so loudly it echoed in my mind, and I realized how much I didn’t want this to stop. A seldom-silenced voice in the corner of my mind went quiet. I wanted this, and I didn’t want to crush myself with doubts, for once.

“Just do your little trick again, Rhys,” I dared him softly.

His eyes flared with surprise at the challenge and he grinned, a hint of wickedness in the tilt of his lips. This time he snapped his fingers with a little flourish, clearly showing off. I started to roll my eyes before they were dragged downward, and I stared. It wasn’t only _my_ pants that he had vanished.

My mouth went a little dry as I took in the shape and hard length of him. Nakedness amongst males was a casual thing, but the unspoken rule was that you didn’t let yourself… rise to attention. And, the way we were laying, his cock was nearly touching mine. I didn’t expect the renewed surge of lust that washed through me, and I felt myself grow impossibly stiffer, almost painfully. I wanted to touch him. I wanted his touch on me. I just wanted _more_. I pushed him gently off me and he leaned away, still propped on one elbow. I rose to sit on my knees and face him.

His eyes widened as he got a good look at me and I could practically see them measuring me and mentally comparing. For one heartbeat there was a hint of something else - was it fear? - and then it was gone, replaced by that violet inferno. Rhys wanted this as much as I did, though the Gods only knew why, and I found it somewhat steadying.

“What should I do?” I asked slowly, hating the uncertainty in my voice.

“I don’t know,” was all he said.

“You’re not helping.”

“Gods, Az, I’ve never done this before, either!” His answer surprised me and I glared at him, skeptical.

“But I’ve seen you sneak off... with...” I trailed off as his grimace answered my half-formed question.

“I don’t know,” he panted again. “Just… do whatever you would do to yourself.”

Slowly, so slowly, I reached for him. His eyes trailed my trembling hands as I carefully wrapped tentative fingers around him and stroked once, unsure. He was so warm, so soft. I almost sighed at the contact, cherishing the closeness and the feel of him. How many lovers might look beyond my scars? He gasped, his body bowing into my touch, and I was amazed that I could affect him like this.

“Are my scars-”

“I don’t _care_ , Az,” he ground out, and thrust himself into my palm, breathing ragged. “ _Please_ just don’t stop.” And there was a world of feeling in that drawn-out _please_ that stoked the fire in me, and I gripped him a little more firmly, stroking him again.

“ _Fuuuuuuck,”_ he moaned, long and low, rolling the rest of the way onto his back. And I was aching now, aching for some kind of touch that would help ease this leviathan rising within me. He reached to grasp me in turn, drawing a small strangled cry, and began to mimic my motions, matching my pace. It felt… holy Gods, it felt nothing like when I did it.

His touch sent electricity up my spine with every stroke of his hand and I still wanted _more_. I leaned over him, causing the rhythm of his hand to falter slightly, watching the way his smooth hardness slid against my textured grip.

Stealing a glance at his face I could see that he was lost, head thrown back on the pillow and eyes squeezed shut, so I let my gaze linger. I leaned closer still and flicked my tongue against his tip, testing the feel and taste of him. His head snapped up, eyes flying open to meet mine, and the muscles of his abdomen rippled as he tensed. Our gazes locked, and he didn’t pull away. His eyes burned into mine as I licked again, and then took him tentatively into my mouth. The sound he made was deep and primal and it stoked my fires even higher. If he didn’t keep touching me I felt like I might die.

His back arched as I took him deeper into my mouth, and I could feel his slight tremors. He threw his head back again, overcome, and I brought him a little deeper still. His free hand curled into a fist, grasping a handful of the sheets and I backed off, sliding my lips slowly back up the length of him. The way he was both hard and soft and smooth against my tongue was intoxicating, and I started to move, getting into a rhythm. I might not know exactly what I was doing but I knew enough, had dreamed enough, to know how to start.

Rhys moaned again, releasing his grip around my cock, and reached for me where I knelt beside him. With halting motions punctuated by his low sounds of pleasure, he nudged and maneuvered me until I was lying beside him with my head toward the footboard, and rolled to face me. I was taking him deeply into my mouth now, and managed to maintain the contact, clumsily, even as he repositioned me.

Then, heat and sensation _roared_ into me as he slowly took my cock in his mouth, and my ministrations faltered as I gasped for breath around his hardness. Darkness exploded from him and began to whirl, encircling us and seeming to stroke against me. He gripped my hip tightly and we rocked, muffled moans and groans filling the breathless space in the cocoon of night. I was dimly aware of my shadows reaching out to him as they had before without conscious thought, and this time I set them loose to expand freely into the room. I felt a jolt where our magics touched, twining sensually in the air around us.

The dense, eddying swirls of our respective power danced together playfully, whirling faster as we climbed. My hand roved to his side and I gripped the muscle there, just where a slight V shape began to form, fingers digging into the lean muscle. I could barely think through the pleasure he wrung from me and the taste of him and the night and the shadows and the sounds we made. Everything melded, blurring, and I felt my release rising to the brink within me.

At that same moment I felt his muscles clench beneath my fingers and he twitched against my tongue. And I’ll admit, I may have panicked a little. I angled my head back, releasing him and moving my hand quickly from his side, back to stroking the length of him. Realizing what I was doing, he mimicked me, and I instantly missed the heat of his mouth wrapped around me. Our motions were desperate as we reached for that singular peak.

I shattered first, and the force of it rattled me to my bones. My muscles locked down and I shook, clenching so tightly that the moan was locked in my throat. Surge after surge of my release spattered onto Rhys’s perfect chest and I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. My hand had frozen where I was stroking him, and a growl of frustration rumbled from him as I tried to drag the pieces of myself back together.

He sat up to stare at me, eyes wide, shock, amusement, and frustration battling in his gaze. He looked down at his chest, at the evidence of how thoroughly he had undone me, and amusement won out. He looked to me again, smiling, and cracked a half-grin. I smiled back, chagrined, and gave a little shrug with one shoulder. I had only a glimpse of that wickedness returning to edge his lips before he pounced on me. In one smooth motion he was astride me, sitting low on my stomach, a gleam in his eyes.

“Fair’s fair,” he purred, and began to work his cock in his fist above me. My eyes felt huge as I stared, watching him touch himself, and something curled low in my stomach at the sight. My hand joined his of its own accord, and he groaned deeply, the sound rumbling through him and into the muscles of my abdomen. He yielded to me, dropping his hands to grip my sides as he quickly neared the brink. His hips rolled slightly as though he couldn’t help himself. His eyes burned deep into mine as he crested that apex and he made a strangled noise I had never heard from him as he spilled himself onto my bare skin.

I couldn’t breathe. What we had just done, what _he_ had just done, atop me… Even my dreams paled a little in comparison to the raw sexuality of this moment. I felt an unrecognized part of my very self click into place. _Just one more thing that separates me from everyone else at this camp,_ I thought. Well, perhaps not everyone.

As his tremors eased, Rhys’s head bowed, shaggy hair falling to obscure his features, his heaving chest rising and falling a little more slowly with each moment that passed. His darkness withdrew slowly, pulsing in time with his breaths as he pulled it back bit by bit. For a few moments there was no sound in the room but our breathing and the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears.

When his magic was under control once more he raised his eyes to look into mine. There was a tenderness there, and he looked collected. Centered. He gave me a small, satisfied, nearly feline smile. His gaze traced down to my chest, lingering a moment on my lips as it passed, and he looked from my chest to his at the near-identical pattern of viscous, milky drops. He laughed suddenly, the sound warm and easy. He vanished the mess with a flick of his wrist, though I could feel the essence of it still clinging to my skin. And maybe it was strange, but I wanted it there. He slid off me, settling onto one hip and leaning back on a propped arm.

I managed to muster just enough energy to sit up, pivot, and flop back onto the pillows with a groan. I felt as though I was made of lead, my limbs too heavy. _I should probably leave,_ I thought to myself, but I doubted I could rise. Just turning right-way on the bed had been a monumental effort. A week’s worth of pure exhaustion was claiming its due and I was helpless to do anything but lay there, battling my eyelids, as my thoughts drifted.

There’s an anonymity in darkness, a sense of unreality and disconnection that can strip away inhibitions. Of all the people in the world, Rhys and I know the darkness best. It had cradled us and hidden us, but what would the light of morning bring? What would he think about this tomorrow, when the shadows were stripped away? I already knew I would not regret this, but...

He drew the covers up over us, settling them gently, and pressed a final kiss to my temple. “Sleep, Azriel,” he murmured, and shifted back slightly. He seemed to hesitate, and for a moment I hoped he would stay near me. There was a magnetism between us that I was too exhausted to try to analyze, but I felt its gentle tug urging me to close the distance. It seemed like he might feel it too.

But when he settled into the mattress with a sigh he was not touching me, though he was still close enough that I could feel his warmth across the small distance between us. His presence soothed the splintered thoughts that had chased me into sleep for days and finally blessed, dreamless oblivion swallowed me whole.


	2. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the first war with Hybern, Azriel and Rhys are both dealing with their guilt and trauma over the things they've seen and done. When they find themselves alone at Rhys's cabin, Azriel suggests a way for both of them to begin to heal and move forward.

Azriel sped across the countryside of the Night Court, flying as fast as his wings could bear him away from the Hewn City. He knew, logically, that Rhys was fine; his spies within the House of Wind had kept him informed of Rhys’s healing, but he couldn’t shake the image of his friend in chains, body beaten and bloody, from the last time he had seen him. The guilt had eaten at Azriel: for not knowing that Rhys had been captured, for not rescuing him sooner, for having to leave right away, not even able to ease his suffering by removing the ash bolts from his wings before depositing him back at the House of Wind. It was this guilt that drove Azriel now, on his first day off in years, to pay a visit to Rhys’s cabin, the site of so many fond memories from before the war. 

He was worried about what he would find when he arrived. Rhys’s body, of course, would be fine - his magic and the healers would have seen to that. But Azriel knew, better than most, that imprisonment and torture left more than physical scars. That’s why he had sent a message to Cassian as well, who he had tracked down as soon as the war ended a month ago. The male may be prone to hotheadedness and poor choices, but he was also able to somehow know exactly what to say or do when someone else was in crisis, a trait Azriel envied him for. 

He tried not to dwell on these thoughts as he flew, but his other memories were just as bad. The things the High Lord had ordered him to do… Azriel had learned that there were much worse things than having his hands burned. At least those wounds hadn’t wormed their way into his soul, chipping away at the essence of who he was. He didn’t regret any of it, knowing that his actions had helped them win the war, but he slept even less than usual these days. Shaking his head, he refocused on the landscape below him. Surely he was getting close, he thought, just as the cabin came into view. He angled downward, gliding to a smooth stop just short of the front door. Hesitating only a moment, he strode to it, tapping a light knock before turning the handle and walking inside.

The interior of the cabin was much the same as always, save for the two males sprawled on the sofa. Cassian, his face flush already, raised his glass of amber liquid in salute as he caught sight of Azriel. “Azzie!” he called, slurring a little bit. “You need to start catching up.”

Truthfully, Azriel hated that nickname, but he said nothing as he kicked off his boots, his gaze lingering on the other male in the room. Rhys nodded at him, giving him a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes as Azriel took a seat across from them, taking note of the alarmingly low level of liquid still left in the bottle. “How long have you two been drinking?” he asked as he poured himself a glass.

“Long enough for Rhysie to get sad,” Cassian drawled, poking Rhys in the arm. 

“Long enough for Cass to break out the nicknames,” Rhys retorted, shooting Azriel a sympathetic glance. His tone was light, but Azriel could tell it was a forced lightness, and the corners of the room were darker than they should be, betraying Rhys’s tenuous grip on his power. But if he was determined to pretend everything was fine, if that’s what he needed after nearly eight years apart, well, Azriel wouldn’t begrudge him that.

So Azriel sat, and he sipped his drink, and he chuckled at the right places in Cassian’s stories and watched Rhys do the same. It wasn’t until Cass stretched out a wing to show them a new scar that Azriel realized Rhys had his own wings hidden away and wondered at it. He’d never felt the need to hide that part of himself before, not with them, even if he did among the High Fae. A sense of unease rippled through him as Rhys summoned another bottle of liquor, going glass-for-glass with Cassian, who even in their days at Windhaven could drink the two of them under the table. 

Azriel understood that too. Some of the things Azriel had seen… he wished he could drink enough to forget. _The ragged edge of a wing fluttering in the breeze atop a funeral pyre; the screams of the first soldier he had carved information out of; the way he no longer vomited after doing it. Rhys, chained and battered with a hopeless look in his eyes when Azriel and his team had shown up to rescue him._ He shoved those thoughts aside, burying them in the deep, frozen place within himself where only his nightmares could find them as he returned his attention to the conversation.

“Well, I guess I should probably get going if I have any chance of making it back tonight,” Cassian sighed, setting his empty glass on the low table in front of him. 

Rhys looked startled, whipping his head around to stare as Cassian rose and stretched before looking around for his own boots. “Making it back where?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. 

“Ironcrest,” Cassian replied. “Where your _lovely_ father was kind enough to drop me as a lowly foot soldier, and where I was supposed to be all day.”

Azriel felt another pang of guilt as he realized the punishment Cassian would get for coming, and averted his gaze as the other two males clasped forearms in farewell. He followed Cassian to the door, intending to apologize, but before he could, Cassian wrapped his arms around him.

“Don’t you dare apologize for asking me to come,” he murmured in Azriel’s ear, quietly enough that Rhys, still in the other room, wouldn’t hear. “Even if I had been on the other side of Prythian, I would have found a way to be here.” Azriel, lost for words, returned the embrace, hoping the other male felt the gratitude in the squeeze of his arms. 

“Fly safely,” he said when he found his voice at last, pulling back to look Cassian in the face. 

Despite the amount he’d had to drink, Cassian’s eyes were clear as he nodded in the direction of the other room. “Can you stay tonight? I don’t think he should be alone.”

Azriel nodded, the same thought having occurred to him as well, and Cassian gave him a grim smile before releasing him. “See you both for Solstice,” he called over his shoulder as he walked out the door, closing it gently behind him before the distinct sound of wingbeats signalled his departure. 

Azriel stayed at the door for a long moment before turning to make his way back to the other room. The cabin was quiet, Cassian having been doing most of the talking, and he suddenly found himself apprehensive to be alone with Rhys, unsure of what to say or do. The male in question was still lounging on the couch, his casual pose undermined by his knuckles turning white where his hand still clenched around his glass. He looked up as Azriel walked back in and gestured to the spot next to him, where Cassian had recently sat. Azriel took it gingerly, as though giving Rhys the option to change his mind, and settled uncomfortably into the cushions.

"Thank you," Rhys said quietly, his eyes flicking toward Azriel but otherwise remaining motionless. "I know this was your idea, and I appreciate you both coming to see me."

Azriel inclined his head in response, torn between replying that no thanks were needed and falling to his knees to beg his friend's forgiveness for not being smarter, faster, good enough at his job to save him from the torment he had endured. He spared a glance at Rhys, who was again staring at his glass as though it held some sort of secret he was trying to decipher, his eyes red-rimmed from more, Azriel suspected, than the truly frightening amount he had drunk. Tentatively, feeling wildly out of his depth, Azriel cleared his throat. "Rhys," he began hoarsely, but the future High Lord held up a hand and he fell silent.

“If you try and apologize to me, I will punch you,” Rhys warned, still not looking up from his glass. “My father was right, I knew it was a trap and I walked into it anyway, and I will have to live with the knowledge that I might as well have tortured and killed my legion myself.” 

Azriel’s mouth had gone completely dry, his heart aching as he saw his own guilt mirrored back at him. He opened his mouth to protest, but Rhys continued. “I saw battle-hardened Illyrians _begging_ as the Hybern soldiers cut off their wings.” Although Azriel rarely felt anything approximating empathy toward other Illyrians, he couldn’t help but flinch at the thought of losing his own wings. After not being able to use them for the first several years of his life, he knew that he too would prefer death over being grounded once more. 

Rhys closed his eyes briefly. “I sat there, in those chains that steal power, and could do nothing as they pinned my own wings with ash. I was ready to die, Az. I was so damned tired of it all. I planned to go down fighting, taking Amarantha with me, but I was ready for it to be over.” His eyes opened again, and the rage kindling within them took Azriel by surprise as Rhys finally turned toward him. “And then because of my _wonderful_ father, I couldn’t even avenge the deaths of my soldiers. And how fucked up is it that I wanted to?” His voice was getting louder as he spoke, the anger and hurt coming to the surface. “They all despised me for being a ‘half-breed bastard’,” he spat, “barely even followed my orders without threats, and yet every one of their deaths felt like another spike in my body. How pathetic does that make me?” With a loud snap his wings appeared behind him, and Azriel noticed with a start how dark the interior of the cabin had become. 

“And you know the worst part?” Rhys continued, his voice choked with emotion, making it little more than a growl. “For seven gods-damned years, I had no idea if you or Cassian were even still alive. Every day I prayed to any god that would listen that I wouldn’t see either of your bodies among the fallen when I walked off a battlefield.” Azriel felt a tightness in his chest as Rhys voiced the same fears he himself had felt, the reason he had scanned every report he could get his hands on, often volunteering for incredibly dangerous missions in areas he suspected his friends might be. “I had no idea if I would even come back to anyone I loved,” Rhys continued, “and I couldn’t bear it, the thought of surviving the war to come back to a place that wouldn’t even feel like home.”

Rhys was panting, his violet eyes still locked on Azriel’s own, and the shadowsinger regarded him for a long moment. He could see the freshly-healed scars now, the small shiny lines along the thin membranes of Rhys’s wings, as well as the larger patches where the bolts had been driven in. Following his line of sight, Rhys looked over his own shoulder, apparently surprised to see his wings there, and vanished them once more. Azriel reached out a hand, noting the way Rhys went completely rigid at the movement, but he merely uncurled Rhys’s fingers from around the glass he was still holding and placed it on the table in front of them. 

Azriel sat back once more, his own emotions threatening to overtake him as he longed to let them out in a similar outburst, but the rawness of Rhys’s own anger and grief held him back. So instead he forced himself to take deep, even breaths, willing his shadows to swirl soothingly along the edges of Rhys’s darkness as he asked, “What do you need, Rhys? How can I help you?”

Rhys just stared at him for a long moment before letting out a small, humorless laugh. “What do I need?” he repeated, opening his mouth as if to say more, before seeming to reconsider. He shook his head, turning toward the fireplace, and said so softly Azriel wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear, “What I really need is to stop feeling so... helpless.” His voice broke on the word. “I need to get control of my life.”

Azriel could certainly relate. Over the past few years he had become accustomed to following orders, whether he agreed with them or not. His every action had been dictated by his High Lord, even after the war officially ended, and he had no illusions that he might be released from service anytime soon. As sorrow and understanding welled up within him, he felt himself being drawn to Rhys, the same way his friend’s darkness called to his own shadows. He prayed that he hadn’t misread the situation entirely as he found his voice. “I know you don’t want an apology,” he began, “but I still want to help you. Let me help you, Rhys,” he all but begged. “It won’t change the rest of your life, but you can control me, here, tonight.”

Rhys’s head snapped around to stare at him, his expression changing from surprise to contemplation as he grasped the meaning behind his words and saw the sincerity in Azriel’s face. Azriel held stock-still, barely daring to breathe as Rhys considered the offer Azriel had tossed into the space between them. At last he seemed to make up his mind, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he admitted, “I can’t be gentle, Az.”

Azriel nearly laughed as he held Rhys’s gaze. _As though any part of my life has been gentle,_ he thought, skirting around memories of his scarred hand pressed against a warm, tanned chest, of tentative kisses in the dark. That felt like it had been a lifetime ago, and was certainly not what he was looking for now. So it was with no doubt in his mind at all that he replied, “I don’t need you to be, Rhys.”

That was seemingly all Rhys needed to hear as he surged across the sofa, crashing his mouth into Azriel’s and demanding access with his tongue as he wound his hands into the shadowsinger’s hair. Azriel groaned as he complied, bringing his own hands to rest at Rhys’s waist as he lost himself to their kiss, allowing the other male to control the intensity as he had promised. Rhys shifted so that he straddled Azriel’s lap, grinding their hips together, and Azriel felt his body respond, stiffening until he strained against the fabric of his pants. 

Rhys must have felt it too, as he broke their kiss with a dangerous smirk, sliding off Azriel’s lap to stand, tugging Azriel’s hand as he walked around the table. Azriel followed obediently, not even flinching as Rhys vanished all of their clothing with a wave of his hand, and stopped when Rhys turned to face him. “Kneel,” Rhys ordered, although his tone made it sound more like a suggestion, as though asking Azriel one final time if this was truly what he wanted. 

Without hesitation, Azriel dropped to his knees, only too eager to obey this order from the male he trusted more than almost any other, where the results would bring pleasure rather than pain. His eyes never left Rhys’s as he settled into the carpeted floor, his hands at his sides as he waited for his next instruction. Acceptance flashed across Rhys’s features before they hardened into an arrogant mask as he looked down at the evidence of his own arousal. “I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you what to do next,” he drawled.

Azriel’s gaze dropped to Rhys’s length, reaching out one hand for it as he wrapped the other around a strong thigh. He gave Rhys a few tentative strokes before leaning forward, running his tongue from base to tip. He repeated the motion a few times, wringing a moan from Rhys’s lips as his hands again wound themselves into Azriel’s hair. Only then did he take Rhys into his mouth fully, bobbing back and forth slowly as he took him incrementally deeper. 

Azriel slid the hand still grasping the base of Rhys’s member to the male’s other thigh, willing himself not to gag as Rhys bottomed out at the back of his throat. He felt Rhys’s fingers tighten in his hair as he held him in place for a moment before allowing him to retreat, but the reprieve was short-lived as Rhys immediately pulled him back in, thrusting slightly with his hips. Azriel breathed deeply through his nose as he tried to relax, allowing Rhys to use him for his own pleasure. 

Tears formed in his eyes as Rhys’s thrusts became rougher but he did not pull away, instead allowing the other male the control he had so desperately wished for. He hollowed his cheeks, providing suction that had Rhys spitting out a curse and quickening his pace further until he suddenly went still, holding Azriel’s face tightly to him. Azriel swallowed as a rush of liquid hit the back of his throat but was otherwise motionless, focusing only on his breathing as he flicked his eyes up to meet the violet ones already staring down at him. 

Rhys’s eyes were wide, his lips parted as he panted, and he loosened his grip on Azriel’s hair, running his fingers through it almost tenderly as he finally withdrew from Azriel’s mouth. Azriel closed his eyes briefly at the sensation, dropping his own hands from Rhys’s thighs to his sides, before sitting back on his heels and looking up expectantly. He was hard, painfully so, but ignored his ache of arousal as he asked, “What would you like me to do next, Rhys?”

Rhys tilted his head as that arrogant mask slid back into place, the movement reminding Azriel of a predator cornering prey, and narrowed his eyes, considering. “Lie on your back,” he commanded. “Wings and arms out.” 

Azriel slid off his heels, spreading his wings wide as he slowly lowered himself to the floor. As soon as he was in position, tendrils of darkness wound around his wrists, tethering him to the ground, and he fought back a brief flash of panic as he struggled against them. 

“Is this okay?” Rhys asked, concern evident in his voice. 

Azriel breathed deeply, looking up at his friend. He knew that if he said it wasn’t, Rhys would stop and not hold it against him, but he trusted him, so he forced his muscles to relax as he nodded. 

“Good,” Rhys said with a smirk. He snapped and something appeared in his hand, but before Azriel could see what it was, Rhys knelt and indicated for him to bend his legs. “You’re being so good for me, Azriel,” Rhys murmured over the sound of a bottle uncorking, and Azriel realized he must have summoned a bottle of oil from the bathroom as the scent hit his nose. Rhys poured some out, slathering it liberally over both hands before pushing Azriel’s knees even wider and settling between them. 

The first stroke of Rhys’s hand along his length had Azriel’s back arching up off the ground, his resolve to not struggle against his restraints immediately forgotten. He stopped, however, when he felt the tip of a finger at his rear entrance, his own eyes going wide as he looked at Rhys. Rhys’s grin became positively feral as he slipped the finger in, timing the invasion with another stroke. _Gods,_ Azriel thought as Rhys added another finger, the sensation in two places threatening to overwhelm him. 

Rhys kept a slow pace that had Azriel panting as he felt himself being stretched. He groaned as Rhys added a third finger and took his other hand away, watching through narrowed eyes as the bottle of oil made another appearance. Rhys poured some on his own length, making sure it was slick as he met Azriel’s gaze. “I’m sure I probably don’t have to tell you what I’m going to do now,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “But I want you to ask me for it.”

Azriel gasped, all too happy to obey as Rhys removed his fingers and lined himself up. “Fuck me, Rhys,” he pleaded. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck -” His words turned into a groan as Rhys sheathed himself in one thrust, leaning down so they were chest to chest and staring into each others’ eyes. 

“Like this?” Rhys asked, withdrawing slightly then slamming his hips against Azriel, an unreadable expression on his face. Azriel cried out as he did it again, the roughness bordering on pain as Rhys repeated, “Like this, Azriel?”

“Yes,” Azriel hissed from between gritted teeth. “However you want, Rhys.”

Emotion rippled across Rhys’s face, which he dropped to the crook of Azriel’s neck as he continued his relentless pace. Azriel hooked his knees around Rhys’s hips, trying to find friction of his own as his length slid along Rhys’s stomach, when suddenly the other male went still. They lay like that for a moment, chests heaving as they both breathed heavily, before Azriel felt a trickle of moisture run down his collarbone. With a start he realized that Rhys was crying, and he struggled again against the darkness holding him down as the urge to soothe took him over.

“Rhys?” he asked gently, but the other male gave no indication that he heard, neither moving nor responding. Calling upon the only power he could, Azriel sent his shadows skimming lightly down Rhys’s back, swirling them around the dark tendrils at his wrists. “Rhys?” he tried again, and this time the dark power relented when he moved his arms, wrapping them tightly around the male atop him. He felt tears of his own form as Rhys returned the embrace, and for a long moment they just held each other, relief replacing the guilt and rage Azriel had harbored for so many months. 

At last, Azriel brought a scarred hand to Rhys’s face, and Rhys shifted so he could meet Azriel’s gaze. The movement reminded them both of where they were still joined, violet and hazel eyes widening as twin gasps left their mouths. Azriel recovered fastest, squeezing his legs and shifting his hips up as he raised his brows. “Weren’t you in the middle of something?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Rhys didn’t reply, but the corners of his lips tugged up as he rolled his hips before leaning down to capture Azriel’s mouth with his own. Azriel felt the gratitude in the press of his lips, in the now-gentle thrusts Rhys made, and he tried to return it in the arms he wrapped back around Rhys’s torso, in the strokes of his tongue against Rhys’s own. 

Azriel wasn’t sure how long they lay there, rocking gently together, before a curl of pleasure started to build low in his stomach. The press of their bodies together was providing exactly the friction he craved, and he could tell Rhys was getting close too as he increased the pace and intensity of his thrusts once more. He held Rhys close as he felt him shudder, Rhys’s hips moving erratically as he found his release. Azriel nearly groaned in frustration as Rhys stilled, breathing hard, but managed to swallow the sound as Rhys finally broke their kiss to look down at him. 

For the first time that evening, Rhys’s eyes had truly lost the shadows that had haunted them, and were clear in a way that brought a lump to Azriel’s throat. They stared at each other for what could have been seconds or hours before a familiar, wicked grin worked its way up Rhys’s face. “Put your arms back out,” he ordered, but the edge to his voice was gone and the quick kiss he dropped on Azriel’s lips was reassuring. 

Once again, Azriel obeyed, and dark tendrils returned to pin his wrists, but this time they curled playfully around his arms, not truly binding him. In one swift motion, Rhys withdrew and scrambled back, bending down so his mouth was mere inches from Azriel’s straining erection. “Allow me to return the favor,” he quipped, before wrapping his lips around Azriel’s length. Azriel cursed, bucking his hips, and Rhys let him, wrapping his hands around Azriel’s ass to pull him close. 

Azriel was so close already that it was no more than a minute before he felt himself tense, release barrelling through him as he spilled into Rhys’s mouth. He closed his eyes as Rhys worked him through it, seeming to know the exact moment Azriel became oversensitive and gently pulling away. He felt Rhys shift as the power at his arms released him, and when he opened his eyes Rhys was standing above him, one hand stretched out to help him up. 

Azriel took it, allowing Rhys to haul him to his feet. He ran a hand through his hair, looking around the room as he realized for the first time how late it had gotten. “I can take the sofa,” he offered, internally cringing at the idea of his wings hanging off the edge all night. 

“If you like,” Rhys replied, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. “But the bed is certainly large enough for two.”

Azriel recognized the unspoken ask; Rhys didn’t want to sleep alone tonight. And, if he was being honest with himself, after what they had just shared, he didn’t really want to either. So he nodded and allowed Rhys to lead the way to the bedroom, where the large bed had been invitingly turned down by the cabin’s magic. Two sets of soft pants lay spread out on the sheets, which they slipped on before climbing into the bed. 

“Rhys?” Azriel asked as the room went dark. “Can I hold you?” 

There was no answer for a moment, then Azriel felt the bed shift as Rhys rolled so his back was pressed to Azriel’s front. Breathing a small sigh of relief, Azriel wrapped an arm around his waist, then, as an afterthought, brought his wing around to cocoon them. Rhys let out a long, shuddering breath as Azriel pulled him close, and Azriel’s last thought before he fell asleep was that nothing, not even an order from his High Lord, would ever keep him from coming to Rhys’s aid again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us know what you think of this chapter! :)


	3. Domination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Rhys is the High Lord of the Night Court, he has many new responsibilities that take up a lot of his time. Azriel decides to help Rhys relax by helping him lose control.

**Rhys**

“Don’t you think you could just _try_ eating actual food again?” Cassian whined.

“I thought we settled this the last time, boy. This _is_ food. Don’t make me teach you another lesson in manners.”

Cassian visibly shuddered, but - like an idiot with a death wish - he persisted. “But it’s _gross._ Blood is a liquid; by definition it can’t be food, it has to be a drink.” Amren leveled her otherworldly stare at him and he wisely shut the fuck up, looking to Mor for backup.

The comfortable banter was exactly what I needed tonight, and I could feel the phantom weight easing from my shoulders and my chest. It had been almost exactly a year now since that night in the Spring Court that had changed everything, and the pressure I had felt ever since was nearly enough to drive me mad.

As though losing my entire immediate family in the space of a single day hadn’t been enough, I’d had to deal with Keir attempting to invalidate my rule, the Illyrians trying to secede from my court, and endless poking and prodding from the other High Lords trying to feel me out. I was now the second-youngest High Lord in Prythian - Tamlin being the youngest - and they found every excuse to test me. They were likely testing him, too, but I no longer cared whether he lived or died.

I had invited my remaining family - the family I had chosen - to the House of Wind this evening for more than just friendly conversation and good food. While we needed the time together to decompress and stay connected, there was also the little matter of formalizing their roles in my new Court. 

Mor directed the conversation away from Amren, thankfully, but now Cassian was saying something to Azriel that was making his cheeks flame and his shadows writhe, and I realized I had lost the thread of the conversation. I decided to spare Azriel from the unwanted attention and cleared my throat.

“I had more of a reason to invite you all here this evening than to just spend time with one another - though that is always a pleasure and has been long overdue. I have a few announcements to make.” Even Cassian’s face grew serious as they turned to me, and I knew they all recognized the tone of my voice. I was speaking as their High Lord now, not as their friend.

“Amren is to officially be my second-in-command. Should I be killed, or incapacitated to the point that I cannot give reliable orders, her word will be law. In an emergency, if I am not present, her word will be law.” They all nodded. I met the tiny female’s swirling silver eyes. “Do you accept this title, Amren?” 

“I do, High Lord,” she replied, with a deferential bow of the head. “I will defend this Court and protect our people until my last breath, and beyond.” Formal words for a formal appointment. I nodded my thanks, accepting her oath.

“Mor is to be my third-in-command. I doubt I need to repeat myself about the specifics. Do you accept this title, Morrigan?”

She shouldn’t have looked surprised, but I still saw a small flush of color on her cheeks as she repeated the words Amren had recited before her. She still seemed to expect me to uphold some of the same gender roles as her prick father did in the Court of Nightmares and I always tried not to be offended. She knew me better than that, but old scars run deep.

I announced Cassian’s appointment as High General of my armies and Azriel’s obvious continuation as Spymaster, and settled back into my seat at the head of the table. Their roles and duties weren’t changing in the least; they had all been working as tirelessly as I’d been to secure the territory and bring all the various factions to heel. I hated sitting here like I was lording over them, but I had needed to straddle the line tonight between formal and casual. I resolved not to sit in this seat again in the future. Now that everyone’s ‘rank’ was official, we could all go back to ignoring it. 

Cassian didn’t waste time dominating the conversation once more, but before he had said a dozen words I’d stopped listening again. I didn’t realize I was pushing my food around on my plate without eating until Mor - the insufferable busybody - piped up _helpfully_.

“Rhys, can you try to relax for one night? Honestly.”

“I’m fine, Mor,” I deadpanned. “You can go back to torturing Cassian now.”

“You know if there’s anything we can do to help, all you have to do is ask, right?” Her gaze turned earnest, and she made a small gesture that encompassed the others.

I sighed a little louder than I intended, but I made the effort to give her a smile. “I know. Thank you.” 

There was still a hint of concern in her eyes, but she offered me a bright smile.

“Why don’t we go out tonight? We could all go dancing!” she practically gushed enthusiasm.

“We’ll see.”

She got the hint and turned her attention away from me, and suddenly I felt a cool, light touch stroke against my ankle. I jerked reflexively, banging my knee into the underside of the table and making the dishes rattle conspicuously. Mor shot me a curious glance, but a quick look had me focusing on Azriel.

He was staring down at his plate, seemingly ignoring the friendly bickering, but a ghost of a smirk curved the corner of his lips, and he shot me a quick glance from beneath lowered lashes. He raised a dark eyebrow and I could practically hear the question he was asking with his eyes. _‘Can I help? Do you want to play with me?’_ I felt a little thrill go through me, and gave him a barely perceptible nod. That dark, almost insubstantial touch returned to my ankle again, tracing small patterns, and I struggled to remain motionless.

Az added another tickling shadow at my other ankle and I squirmed a little in my seat. The others were still talking, but all of my focus was now directed beneath the table. He was starting to trail those shadows higher up the inside of my calf, and he teased me - swirling and retracing the path he had already taken. Eventually he curled those threads of power around my leg and slid them up to wrap around the backs of my knees. 

Those twin shadows tugged my legs just a little further apart and it took every ounce of self-control to keep my expression neutral. My cock rose to attention so rapidly that it hurt as it strained against my pants and I quickly used a small amount of my magic to mask my scent and Azriel’s. There was no way the others would miss the smell of our arousal if I didn’t intervene.

I followed his lead, focusing on my plate and trying not to send too many surreptitious glances his way. He was stealing peeks at me anytime he thought Mor and Cassian weren’t looking. His shadows might have been telling him when it was safe to look, for all I knew. He trailed up the insides of my thighs and I had to stifle a groan. I was struggling to breathe evenly. It had been far, far too long since that night when he let me use his mouth. Azriel being dominant was new territory though, and I didn’t know what to expect. 

When his phantom touch finally reached my cock, my self-control nearly broke. I wanted to chase the other three out of the room and take Azriel on the table-top. The caress was so light against the fabric that covered me as to be almost frictionless, but it was enough to stoke the fire.

He didn’t stop teasing me throughout the rest of dinner. Mor started shooting me worried looks and I suspected she thought I was being too quiet and brooding. I didn’t care what she thought, but I tried to offer her a small smile that wasn’t too strained. 

I was clutching one arm of my chair beneath the table, trying to keep a grip on my senses, and I felt a third shadow snake its way to coil around my wrist, pinning my hand and forcing me to try to finish eating with just the other. Mother above, I didn’t know how much longer I could keep myself still and quiet under his ministrations.

Finally, Mor rose to her feet and announced that going dancing in the city had been a splendid idea. Cassian pointed out that it had been her own idea, but offered to go with her, standing up from the table. I saw her momentary confusion when Az didn’t immediately agree to join, and when I showed no sign of rising to follow them.

“Come _on_ Rhys. Please? You need to lighten up and have some fun.”

Azriel chose that moment, while all their attention was on me, to press his shadows a little harder against my erection.

“Go without me, Mor. I promise I’ll relax tonight and I’ll have some fun soon. I’m… tired.” I had no idea how I got the words out - how my voice sounded so steady. I was concentrating hard on Mor’s face, trying desperately not to look to Azriel suspiciously.

Thank the Gods, though, she dropped it with a little shake of her head and they breezed out onto the nearby patio so Cassian could fly them out far enough for Mor to winnow them down. 

Amren grumbled something about drunken dancing idiots, gave me a long unreadable look, and excused herself, leaving through a doorway into the hall. Azriel finally looked up, his hazel eyes burning intently into mine, and he continued those teasing caresses. The shadowy grip on my wrist didn’t lessen, and he looked thoughtful as he appraised me.

He stood slowly from his seat down the table and I felt my heart start galloping against my ribs. He prowled toward me like a predator, weight shifted slightly onto the balls of his feet and a too-fluid grace to his movements. He stopped right next to my chair, so close he was almost touching me. He leaned down to brush his lips against my ear.

“Would you like to play, Rhys?” His voice was soft and low, and the way he said my name made me shiver. I tried so hard to come up with a smart-ass comeback, but I had nothing. I swallowed and turned to look at him, nodding. 

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” was all I could manage, and it came out sounding strangled.

“Shield the room,” he whispered, rising back to his full height, and I immediately threw my magic out to both silence any noise, and to keep anyone from returning if they should suddenly decide to do so. I removed the magic masking our scents, and the smell of mingled arousal filled the space between us, making me feel a little light-headed.

His shadows never stopped moving against me; yet another tendril wrapped itself around my remaining wrist and gently but firmly guided it to the arm of the chair, securing me on that side as well. Azriel slowly turned my chair toward him, letting the wooden legs scrape loudly against the stone floor.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully in that midnight voice of his, “the last time we did something like this, I let you use my mouth.” I swallowed. Hard. “What was it you said to me that first night back in Windhaven? _Fair’s fair_?”

I looked up at him and I knew my eyes were wide, but I nodded again.

“Good,” he murmured. His shoulders shifted and I heard the soft clink of his belt, and my eyes were immediately refocusing lower to watch those beautiful hands of his dexterously unfasten his pants. I’d never told him, but I had always found his hands beautiful. They were scarred, yes, but they were wholly unique and they told the story of a spirit that couldn’t be broken. He had been so young. There is a fierce beauty in that kind of strength.

Those hands were pushing his breeches down his muscular thighs now, and his impressive length sprang free. He didn’t bother removing his clothing any further, and the sight of him with his waistband halfway to his knees was strangely erotic. He slid one hand back up his thigh, teasing it up across his abdomen to raise his shirt higher, out of the way. The muscles of his stomach rippled with his breaths, which were coming faster now even though I could tell he was trying to stay collected.

His other hand reached out to thread those long fingers through my shaggy hair and he fisted that hand lightly, coaxing me to lean forward. I licked my lips as I parted them, and he slowly pressed his cock between them, sliding into my mouth. His grip in my hair was just tight enough to tug at the roots, but not punishing enough to hurt. He held me still as he slowly worked himself in and out of my mouth, every motion smooth but controlled, and I stroked my tongue against him, enjoying the taste and feel of him. I had only done this twice before and I had very much enjoyed it.

Azriel started murmuring to me, his voice deep. “Your mouth feels so good, Rhys. I didn’t know just how good you were at this the first time.” I shivered - something about that dark, seductive voice traced little prickles down my spine. “Last time, I didn’t get to enjoy you for very long. I’ve waited years to feel this again. You’re so fucking talented.”

I couldn’t help myself - I moaned at that - and his hips jerked in response, shoving him hard into the back of my throat. I groaned again, tugging against those incorporeal bonds. 

“Mmmm-” he hummed, “did you like that?” He held my gaze, staring down at me to read my face as he thrust in again, harder. “You still like it rough when you’re not in control, don’t you?” I felt my cock twitch in my pants. He released his hold on my hair and slid his hand along my jaw to cup my chin, still searching my eyes. “As amazing as you look right now, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind. I just got a little carried away.” 

He slowly withdrew from my mouth, holding my chin firmly as I tried to lean forward to follow him. He pulled his pants back up, hiding his glistening erection, but didn’t fasten anything. 

“Don’t worry,” he said, and that wicked smirk was back. “We aren’t finished.” He backed toward a darker corner of the room and disappeared, wrapping his shadows around himself. The tendrils that bound my hands vanished, and when his whisper floated to me, I couldn’t tell which direction it had come from. “Meet me in your bedroom. No magic.”

With that, I could suddenly sense that I was alone. I blew out a quick breath and ran my fingers through my hair. It was unlikely that I would run into anyone in the halls, but if I did, there was very little hope of hiding my hard-on. I didn’t know what the fuck had gotten into Az, but I _really_ liked it.

I dispelled the magic I had wrapped around the room and headed out the door, my steps quick. The less time I spent traversing the hallways, the less chance there was of running into anyone. My lips felt tingly and a little swollen. And if I was being honest, I was eager to see what Azriel would do next. The fear of meeting someone in the hallway was keeping my dick rock hard and I knew that was part of his little game.

It only took a few minutes to make it to my suite - though it felt like an eternity - and as soon as I closed the door behind me I sensed him. He withdrew his cloaking shadows and pressed against my back in the same instant, and I felt strong hands wrap firmly around my wrists, tugging me tightly against him. I kept my wings hidden all the time these days, so there was nothing in his way, and I felt every inch of him against me.

“Did you like how I teased you right there at the table in front of everyone?” he murmured into my ear, barely above a whisper. “Did it turn you on to worry that we might get caught?” My head lolled back against his shoulder and I couldn’t form a coherent response. His words were unraveling me, and the deep, soft purr of his voice was making my scalp prickle and giving me goosebumps. 

He shifted my arms so that he could hold both of my wrists in one hand behind my back and his other hand snaked around to tug my shirt out of my waistband and slide underneath, across the muscles of my stomach. “Did you like having my cock in your mouth before their scents even faded from the room?” A deep groan was the only answer I could make.

He traced swirls across my abdomen with the tips of his fingers and I was panting now, leaning back against him in an effort to stay on my feet. “Your skin is so smooth. So flawless.” His breathy whisper stirred the hair at my ear and I shivered. He splayed his fingers possessively over my stomach, and then folded his shadows around us both. I had the sensation of moving without moving, and then the darkness cleared. He had stepped through the shadows - his version of winnowing - moving us from our place near the door to stand next to my massive bed.

“You once said you wanted to undress me,” he purred. “Now’s your chance.” He released my wrists and I turned to face him eagerly, pressing myself against his chest and capturing his lips with mine. I slid my hands around his sides to his back and began unfastening the hooks and small buttons that closed the material around his wings, taking care not to brush against them. 

He smiled against my lips and trailed one long-fingered hand up my chest to wrap lightly around my throat. He didn’t squeeze, but having a male’s hand around my neck set my nerves on edge. I didn’t pull away, but I realized I had frozen when Az whispered against my lips, “Trust me, Rhys.” It went against every instinct to allow his hand to remain there, but... I _did_ trust him. “I promise not to take you too far, but if you ask me to stop, I _will_ stop. Just one word.” 

I know he could feel my throat bob against his hand as I swallowed, but I dipped my chin - enough that he could feel it - and then refocused on freeing him from his shirt. When I was ready to slide it free over his head, he finally released my throat and raised his arms helpfully.

He hadn’t re-fastened his pants or belt while he was out of my sight, so they were delightfully easy to slide down his powerful legs. He stepped out of them, kicking them to the side, and spread his wings wide, stretching them before tucking them loosely against his back. 

He took two steps away from me without turning and said “Your clothes next. No magic.” He casually wrapped a hand lightly around his cock and stroked slowly. A bead of moisture pearled at the tip, and he observed me without a hint of bashfulness.

 _Fuck._ I had never undressed in front of him before and I felt oddly self-conscious. He had seen me naked, obviously, but vanishing our clothes with my powers removed a rather intimate step from the process. I could actually feel the weight of his stare as he watched me grip the hem of my shirt and draw it up and over my head. 

I took a moment as I worked on my buckle to wonder where the fuck this change in him had come from. I knew full well that we were no longer those inexperienced teenagers we had been in Windhaven, but Az was still the only male I had ever been with and I had always taken the lead with him. I would never have expected how much this thrilled me. And his words… Gods, if he kept that up he might make me come from his voice alone. Finally kicking my own pants aside, I steeled myself and raised my eyes to meet his. 

Azriel’s pupils were blown and his face was glazed with lust. He was still stroking himself lightly, with slow strokes, but I could see the muscles in his arm ripple. He let the moment drag on, and didn’t break the tension until I felt my face actually heating. He closed the distance between us, dark intent in each of those few steps, and gripped my hips to angle me and press me back onto the bed. 

“Get in the center and put your head on the pillows.”

I did as I was told, moving to lay back in the middle of the large bed, atop the covers. Azriel wasted no time snaking shadows around my wrists and pulling them up over my head, leaving me enough slack to bend my elbows a bit, but when I tugged experimentally they didn’t give an inch.

Azriel crawled over me and straddled my hips, rubbing his cock against mine. Leaning down, he captured my mouth again, tracing my bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. His kisses moved down my jaw toward the soft spot beneath my ear. 

“Should I mark your neck?” he murmured, considering. “Make you cover it with a glamour or risk being found out?” I groaned at his words - at the effect they had on me. He nipped my neck lightly, smoothing over the small hurt with his tongue before sucking gently. I arched against him, and he chuckled deep in his chest. 

“No, maybe not your neck,” he mused, teasing. “But I can mark you… other places.” His nose trailed down the column of my throat to my collarbone and he breathed in deeply. “You smell so fucking good,” he murmured, with a light sucking kiss to the hollow of my shoulder. “You smell like _me._ ”

My hips bucked a little at that, trying desperately to find some friction as his words and his voice took me apart piece by piece. He worked his way down to my chest and began sucking harder, using his teeth, and leaving a trail of small purple splotches in his wake. 

My chest was heaving, gasping for air in a room that suddenly felt too small. He slid lower, the backs of his legs skimming my thighs, and his kisses trailed down my side to my hip bone. He avoided my desperate cock entirely, leaving a mark on the crease of my thigh before working his way to the inside of my leg.

I was dimly aware that I was jerking against the bonds at my wrists. They didn’t cut into my skin or cause me any pain, but neither did they allow me any movement. It was maddening - I was desperate for him and he was keeping me on the edge. When he had marked both of my inner thighs, making me gasp and squirm, he sat up to kneel over me, sliding slowly back into place across my hips.

“I want to fuck you, Rhys.” His voice was still a midnight caress, but his expression was serious as he looked down at me. I felt a pang of nervousness, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about it before. I had imagined Azriel fucking me plenty of times.

I tried to nod again, not trusting my voice, but Azriel’s hand shot out to gently grip my chin. His eyes bored into mine and they practically glowed. “Say. It.” he said slowly, enunciating every sound. 

“Yes. Az, please…”I had been on edge for so long now, starting with dinner, that it was the best I could do. The shadow around one of my wrists released, and he leaned forward to rub at the spot comfortingly even though it didn’t hurt. He leaned down, bringing his face close to mine, and tilted his hips against me, drawing another gasp from my lips.

“Do your little trick for me. Summon the oil. I want to be inside you.” He swallowed my whimper, recapturing my lips in a deep kiss, and it actually took me two tries to follow his order. I could feel him smiling when the first snap of my fingers had no result; amused at the evidence of what he was doing to me. I was so frayed that I could barely concentrate enough to open that little pocket between worlds.

When the bottle appeared in my palm with the second snap, he plucked it away and guided that hand up to be bound alongside the other. “Can I have you on your knees, _High Lord?_ ” His tone was playful, teasing me for being at his mercy despite being so powerful. I knew a real question lay beneath the light words, though, and I nodded again. 

He slid off me to help me roll over, my hands still bound but the shadows rotating with me to keep me in place. He gripped my hips and dug his fingertips in a little harder than necessary, making my stomach clench, and pulled me a few inches down the bed so that my arms were fully extended. He then lifted my hips, positioning me the way he wanted, until I was kneeling with my back arched and my chest pressed to the bed. 

“You look so fucking hot like this,” he groaned, and I shivered again. I heard the soft pop as he uncorked the bottle, and the faint scent reached my nose a moment later. I couldn’t see what he was doing and the anticipation was killing me. The bed dipped as he moved a little and my muscles clenched.

Warm, strong hands spread across my lower back, and I felt the glide of the oil between my skin and his rough palms. He massaged the muscles there, digging his thumbs into the tense spots along my spine. He slid his hand up the groove of my back as far as he could reach, trailing it slowly back down, and I felt myself relaxing incrementally.

His hands glided to rest on either side of my ass and he kneaded the flesh there before slowly pressing one well-oiled finger into me. I moaned, pressing my face into the covers to muffle the sound, and his other hand lightly slapped against my ass cheek. I felt myself clench around that invading digit in surprise, and he blew out a sharp breath. 

“Don’t hide your pleasure from me. Let me hear you.” He worked that finger slowly, in and out, massaging the oil into me before slipping a second finger alongside the first. I turned my face away from the sheets and moaned again, long and low. He took his time stretching me, adding a little more oil from time to time, until he hummed in satisfaction. 

My stomach tightened in anticipation but, instead of removing his fingers as I was expecting, I felt him add a third finger and curl them inside me, and I jerked hard as they brushed against a spot that made me see stars. I barely recognized the sound that I made, low and helpless, and he brushed against that spot again before slowly withdrawing his fingers.

The bed dipped again as he repositioned himself more closely behind me, and I sucked in a breath. He tapped his cock against my opening, teasingly, and asked - one last time - “Are you sure?”

“Holy fuck, Az. _Please…_ ” And, thankfully, he didn’t make me beg any further.

I winced, feeling the stretch and pressure as the head of his cock slid into me. I felt a pang of guilt at how hard I had fucked him when he’d offered himself to me after the war. I was fairly certain he had liked it, but I was still grateful that he was going more slowly for me. He’d been so thorough that there was almost no pain, though the feeling of being stretched was still a foreign one.

“Oh gods, Rhys, you feel so fucking good.”

He held my hips tightly - not giving me any room to move - and slowly, inch by inch, he drove his cock into me. It wasn’t the hard, claiming thrust I had used with him, but neither did he back off or give me a reprieve. He pressed inexorably into me until I felt his skin against mine, and I felt the fullness of him inside me. 

He moaned deeply, the sound rumbling in his chest as though he’d tried to suppress it. He stroked his hands against my hips before holding them tightly as he gradually pulled away and slid slowly into me again. The motion was just as controlled as it had been in the dining room when he had worked my mouth. 

I had almost no range of motion, but I rocked back onto him on his next stroke, causing it to be ever so slightly deeper, and he hissed between his teeth. “I promised I wouldn’t take you too far, but you already want more, don’t you? Tell me how it feels.”

“It feels… Az… Gods, it’s… so good.” I gasped out the words, practically incoherent, and tried to rock back onto him again. He sped up his pace a little, drawing more helpless sounds from me. 

“I wish you could see how amazing you look with my cock buried in your ass,” he drawled seductively, and I clenched around him hard, jerking against my restraints. “You like when I talk to you, don’t you, Rhys? I wonder if I can bring you over the edge untouched, with just my cock inside you and my voice.”

I almost came on the spot at that, but I gritted my teeth and held myself back. He picked up his pace and there was a harder, deeper push to his thrusts. His grip on my hips was likely to bruise, and he was using it for extra leverage. He was murmuring under his breath almost constantly now, and though the pleasure was making it hard to focus on his words, that deep silken voice was like a caress sending constant shivers down my spine. I couldn’t stop the little moans that slipped out, though they made my face flame.

He pulled almost all the way out and slammed into me, _hard._ And I couldn’t stop the particularly loud, long moan that was wrenched from me. I turned my face into the sheets to muffle the desperate sound and Az stilled immediately, buried to the hilt.

He slid his hands up my back to my shoulders and lifted, bringing my chest up off the bed. At the same time, his shadows repositioned my arms, bringing them around to pull my hands backward to either side of his hips. This combination brought me up into a tall kneeling position, leaning forward slightly, with that shadow grip on my wrists supporting some of my weight and keeping me from tipping forward. 

“I thought I told you I wanted to hear you.”

When he pulled back and rolled his hips into me, his cock hit that same spot that his graceful fingers had found, and my moan was embarrassingly loud now, with no way to cover it.

“Don’t be self-conscious, I love hearing what I do to you.” He rocked into me again and slid one hand around, up my chest, and brought it to rest encircling my throat. He still didn’t squeeze, but he loosened his shadows enough that I felt my weight press my neck into his grip just a little. It was almost too much - the threat with the safety, the fear with the trust. The instincts that had rebelled against this the first time were quieter now, but I still felt new adrenaline flooding my system and the room started to tilt around me.

He pulled almost all the way out of my body and slammed back in, setting a punishing pace and pulling me back against him with each thrust. He was hitting that spot inside with every movement and I was making one long, continuous sound now that I had no control over.

“You are… so amazing... You feel so… so good, Rhys,” Az continued to stroke me with his words between punctuating thrusts. I was building, and I knew he could feel my muscles clenching around him as his own sounds of pleasure grew louder. 

The hand around my neck squeezed - not to cut off my airflow, but his thumb and middle finger pressed into the sides of my neck above my pulse points, and I heard my heartbeat immediately crescendo in my ears. The complete lack of control was blurring with the pleasure and the adrenaline, and my magic started seeping out of me, unbidden, to eddy around us.

And just as I thought I might die from this, Azriel finished taking me apart completely.

“Come for me, Rhysand,” he commanded, slamming in deep. 

His voice shattered me. The edges of my vision went dark with the force of it, and a strangled moan escaped my lips as the first pulse shot from me. I was dimly aware that I was half moaning, half growling, as I spilled myself on the bed in violent spurts. The surging heat of his release inside me was foreign, but it prolonged my own orgasm. I could feel Azriel’s cock twitch inside me and he groaned long and low in my ear, pressing himself against my back. His hand immediately released its slight pressure on my neck and slid down to rest across my collarbones, helping to support my weight gently as we came down, shuddering. His other arm wrapped around me to hold me tightly against his chest.

I hung my head, panting, and Azriel kept me pressed against him as he carefully pulled out of me and released his shadows. My arms and legs felt somewhat disconnected from my mind, and I was grateful when he gently shifted me away from my own mess and laid me down on the clean side of the bed. He knelt beside me and rubbed my shoulders, then my wrists, even though his shadows had never felt painful. 

His eyes were practically glowing as he gazed down at me, expression contented, and searched my face. 

“I know you’re tired,” he said gently, “but do you think you could…” he trailed off and jerked his chin toward the side of the bed that bore the evidence of his complete power over me. All trace of demand or dominance was gone from his tone now, though. My thoughts were sluggish, but I was less distracted than I had been when summoning the oil, and I managed to vanish the mess on the first try.

He offered me a rare smile. “That was unbelievable, Rhys. Did you… I mean-” he looked a little embarrassed, and I couldn’t help but laugh at his uncertainty. The contrast was so absurd that it was funny.

“Yes, Az. I liked that. A lot.” I managed to give him a sleepy smile in return, and he sighed contentedly, the sound containing a hint of relief. He helped me get under the covers and slid in beside me, pulling me to him and wrapping his arms around me. I laid my head on his smooth chest and listened to his heartbeat as it finished slowing to a calmer rhythm. He stroked small swirls on my back, across my shoulders, and I knew he was tracing the whorls of my tattoos. I knew where every line of ink was with my eyes closed, and my brothers-in-arms bore matching sets. 

“We should do this more often,” I mumbled, and his low chuckle shook my head gently where it rested against him.

“Yes, _High Lord_ ,” he teased, and I could hear his smile.

I felt the corners of my lips curl, and that voice, full of midnight promise, was the last thing I heard as sleep claimed me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was particularly fun to write, and we hope you enjoy!


	4. Exploration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While out at Rita’s one night, both Azriel and Rhys take interest in a lovely female at the bar. Even though they’ve shared a bed many times before, Rhys surprises Azriel by suggesting they both take the female home, adding a third person to their dynamic.

Azriel scowled into his drink as he slumped forward at their usual table, the booths at Rita’s not having been designed with wings in mind. He was usually able to say no to Mor, and even Cassian, when they decided to go out dancing, but this time Rhys had decided to join them and he wasn’t strong enough to withstand three simultaneous guilt trips. So he sat and drank, and tried not to stare too long at the curvaceous blonde at the center of the dance floor.

A flicker of movement to his left drew his attention to the High Lord seated beside him, nursing a glass of his own. Rhys’s lips curled up as they locked gazes. “Having fun yet, Az?” he drawled, and Azriel shot him a dirty look before downing the contents of his glass.

“I still don’t understand why my presence here was necessary,” the shadowsinger grumbled, signaling to a passing waitress for a refill. “You all know I don’t dance.”

“And you know that’s a lie,” Rhys shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You’d dance if Mor asked you to.”

Azriel smoothly flipped him off as the waitress returned, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head at the obscene gesture aimed at the High Lord. Rhys merely laughed, tossing his head back as she scurried away, and Azriel clutched his new glass in a death grip as the corners of his own mouth twitched. Rhys leaned closer, mirth still dancing in his eyes as he slid a hand up Azriel’s thigh. “I’m glad you came,” Rhys murmured, and Azriel fought back a shiver as Rhys’s fingers made small circles. “It would have been so boring to sit here all by myself.”

“So torturing me is your entertainment, then?” Azriel asked with a frown, although he couldn’t deny a fondness for this particular brand of torment. With how busy they’d both been lately, there hadn’t been much opportunity to seek out new partners, so they had been increasingly turning to each other to ease the ache whenever the need arose. In fact, this was the first night in months that there had even been the possibility of a night on the town, another factor that had kept Azriel from protesting too much when Mor urged them all to come out with her.

Rhys let his hand trail lightly over Azriel’s crotch before leaning back, a small smirk on his face. “It isn’t torture if you enjoy it,” he replied with a wink, and Azriel wasn’t sure whether he wanted to kiss Rhys or flip him off again. He made himself look away from the magnetic pull of those violet eyes, the plush lips he knew the taste and feel of by heart, and searched the crowd again, spotting Cassian twirling Mor and another female around the dance floor, all three of them laughing. His eyes lingered on them, the happiness on their faces, before a subtle tapping of one of his shadows at his shoulder pulled his attention away.

His shadows didn’t communicate with words, but rather impressions, and he was hit with the neck-prickling sensation of being watched as the shadow swirled around him. As casually as possible, he raised his glass to his lips, allowing his gaze to wander around the crowded room in hopes of catching a glimpse of whomever was watching him. His eyes snagged on a female sitting alone at the bar, which struck him as odd since she was clearly beautiful. Long, dark hair cascaded over sun-darkened shoulders, her close-fit clothing accentuating luscious curves. He almost laughed as she shot a furtive glance in his direction, their eyes locking as a flush crept up her cheeks.

Azriel held her gaze as her dark eyes flitted between him and Rhys, seated next to each other in the booth, and noted the appreciation in her raised brows. Her eyes lingered on his companion, and Azriel’s chest squeezed. Of course, she would be interested in the beautiful, powerful High Lord, not the Illyrian bastard at his side. He finally looked away as she winked and Rhys let out a low chuckle, evidently having noticed where Azriel’s attention had drifted.

“You should go talk to her,” he said, and Azriel whipped his head around in surprise. Rhys looked sincere, and Azriel had to hold back a bitter, disbelieving laugh.

“I don’t think it’s me she’s interested in,” he said, and was proud of the way he kept his disappointment from his voice. Rhys would take the lovely female home, and Azriel would head back to the House of Wind alone. He thought he should probably be used to the feeling of being unwanted by now, but a sharp pain lanced through him despite his best efforts to ignore it.

Rhys frowned, shooting a glance back at the female. Azriel consciously fought the impulse to do the same, even though his shadows informed him that her attention was still focused on their table. “Actually,” Rhys said thoughtfully, “it looks like she might be interested in both of us. That is, if you’d be willing to share.” His violet eyes bored into Azriel’s as though he could hear every self-deprecating thought that had just flitted through Azriel’s mind.

Azriel tried not to look too surprised, but had a feeling he failed as Rhys’s eyes glittered. They had bedded each other enough times now that they knew each other’s rhythms by heart, what they liked and disliked, how to drive each other crazy, but Azriel had never even considered adding a third person to their dynamic, much less a female, despite the way Helion eyed Rhys’s entire Inner Circle at every diplomatic meeting with the Day Court. His pulse pounded in his ears, unable to resist the urge to look over at her again, and his swallow was audible as he swung his attention back to Rhys. 

“I’ll take that as confirmation that you’re open to the idea,” Rhys teased with a grin, and Azriel gave him a small, tight nod. Rhys’s smile grew, and he ran his hand along Azriel’s leg below the table again before sliding away and rising to his feet. “Coming?” he asked, raising a brow, but Azriel shook his head. He still wasn’t convinced Rhys was right about the female wanting both of them, and he couldn’t stand the thought of being an unwanted third in their conversation. He took another sip of his drink as Rhys regarded him, but the High Lord said nothing else before he turned and strode purposefully toward the bar.

Azriel watched out of the corner of his eye as Rhys approached the female, taking her proffered hand and kissing the back rather than shaking it. He rolled his eyes at his friend’s dramatics, and was pleased to see the female laugh rather than blush as so many had done. He sipped at his drink as they continued to speak, Rhys leaning against the bar and into her personal space. He tried not to flinch as she laughed again; Rhys certainly had a way with words that he himself had never mastered.

Azriel had just finished convincing himself to leave and drown his loneliness in whiskey alone in his rooms when he felt a telltale tapping within his mind. He opened a crack in his shields and Rhys’s voice floated into his mind. _“Aren’t you going to come say hello?”_

 _“Should I?”_ Azriel replied sardonically. _“You look like you have this handled.”_

_“Well I told her we were a package deal, so either we’re taking her home and showing her a good time, or I'm going to take you home and punish you for disappointing the lady."_

Azriel’s entire body locked in surprise even as his pulse quickened and he gaped in Rhys’s direction. He always knew that this thing between him and Rhys and been born of convenience, both of them only finding each other when they were between lovers, and he hadn’t really expected Rhys to seriously suggest that the female come home with both of them. Nor had he thought she would agree to it. But Rhys was staring back at him, his brows raised expectantly, so Azriel downed the rest of his drink and stood, stretching out his wings before tucking them back in tightly and shouldering his way through the crowd.

Azriel spied Cassian and Mor still dancing as he edged around the dance floor, and he was surprised to notice that the sight of them pressed together didn’t bring up the usual jealousy and pining, not when he was suddenly face-to-face with Rhys and the mystery female. They both had a predatory glint in their eyes as he stood before them, and suddenly he was rethinking this situation for entirely different reasons.

“Azriel,” Rhys broke the silence, gesturing to the female beside him, “this is Emmaline. Emmaline, Azriel.” Azriel held out a hand for her to shake, remembering only a second late that she might be put off by his scars. Her eyes were locked on his, however, as she reached forward to grasp his hand, squeezing it firmly and for a moment longer than necessary.

“Lovely to meet you, Azriel,” she said, her voice a sultry, throaty purr that sent a rush of heat through his veins.

“Likewise,” Azriel replied, willing himself not to dwell on how erotic his name sounded on her lips. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. Is this your first time at Rita’s?”

“It is,” she confirmed. “I recently took over my father’s spice trading business, and since I have a few more hours before we’re ready to sail, Sevenda recommended I come here.”

“Sevenda?” Rhys interjected, looking awestruck. “You’re supplying her spices? I could kiss you.”

Emmaline’s eyes flicked to him, and a wicked smile curled at her lips. “I’m definitely hoping you will,” she replied, and Azriel chuckled as Rhys seemed momentarily lost for words. The High Lord was notoriously an outrageous flirt, and Azriel enjoyed seeing him on the receiving end, for once.

“And are you enjoying it here?” Azriel asked, deciding to put Rhys out of his misery.

“I am,” she replied with another grin. “But not so much that I would be heartbroken to leave with a pair of gorgeous males.” She winked at Azriel again, and he suddenly found it hard to swallow. He certainly appreciated a female who knew what she wanted.

“Shall we, then?” Rhys asked, holding out a hand to each of them. A small stack of coins materialized on the bar as Emmaline stood, taller than Azriel had expected, and dropped her palm into his. Azriel only hesitated a moment before doing the same, tucking his wings in tightly in preparation for winnowing. Rhys’s grip tightened, then they were surrounded by rushing wind and inky blackness, which gave way to the interior of the townhouse. Azriel looked around, noting with some surprise that they were not in Rhys’s bedroom, but rather one of the unused guest rooms down the hall. He turned to face his companions, but noticed with some chagrin that Emmaline had already taken the initiative, her free hand curling into Rhys’s hair and pulling his face down to hers.

A rush of doubt hit Azriel again as he dropped Rhys’s hand, which immediately went to Emmaline’s waist. Sighing silently to himself, Azriel strode over to a chair situated near the empty fireplace, plopping into it and unlacing his boots. Small gasps and groans filled the air as Azriel pulled them off, setting them aside, and prepared to sneak out and leave the other two to it.

He snuck a glance back over to them, just in time to meet Emmaline’s gaze over Rhys’s shoulder as he pulled off her shirt, leaving her bare from the waist up. Rhys leaned back down to her, running his hands over her smooth skin, but she pushed him away gently, her eyes never leaving Azriel’s. The shadowsinger lost the battle to keep his eyes on her face as she crossed the room to him, every one of her curves just as delicious as they had looked concealed by her garments. There was no self-consciousness to her movements; she was unhurried and graceful and confident as she stopped before him, and Azriel felt a sudden rush of blood below his belt as she reached out a hand.

He grasped it, allowing her to haul him to his feet, and she gave him a soft smile before turning to lead him over to the bed. She kicked off her shoes before turning to face him again, bringing his hands to the waistband of her pants and he took the hint as her hands trailed up his arms to his neck, pulling his head down so she could capture his lower lip between hers. He slowly worked both her pants and underwear down her legs as she explored his mouth, his tongue dancing against hers, only breaking apart when he dropped to his knees to help her step out of the garments.

Azriel looked up at her as he tossed the clothing aside, intending to get back up, but a hand on his shoulder and the look in her eyes stopped him. His jaw nearly dropped as she sat on the bed, spreading her knees wide and urging him with gentle tugs on his arms to shuffle between them. He raised a questioning brow at her, which she answered with a wicked grin, sharp as a razor. “You seem like a male who knows what to do with his mouth,” she explained, and Azriel couldn’t help the matching smile he gave her.

He leaned close, never breaking eye contact, until his mouth was so close to her core he could flick out his tongue and taste her. “Would you like to find out if you’re right, Emmaline?” he asked, his voice rough with desire, and she shivered as his breath ghosted over her.

“Yes,” she breathed, her pupils wide, and that was all the permission Azriel needed. In one smooth movement, he pushed her back so she was lying flat on the bed and pulled her knees over his shoulders, flaring his wings back so her feet wouldn’t accidentally rub against them. He kissed his way up her inner thigh as he dug his fingers into her hips, holding her down against the bed. She was already squirming by the time he licked a stripe down her center, and he allowed himself a small, self-satisfied smirk as he did it again, running his tongue in a small circle over the bundle of nerves at her apex before plunging it into her slick heat.

He alternated between hard, purposeful licks, barely-there kisses, and slow, languid movements, cataloguing every moan and hitched breath to figure out what she liked best. He was so invested in his own actions that he had nearly forgotten about Rhys, who startled him with a soft tap in his mind. _“She’s right, you know,”_ Rhys said conversationally as Azriel allowed him access through his shields. _“You_ are _a male who knows what to do with his mouth.”_ He flashed Azriel a memory: a different time the shadowsinger had been on his knees, his lips wrapped around Rhys’s hard length, and Azriel groaned as his own erection strained against the fabric of his pants.

Between Emmaline’s taste on his tongue and Rhys’s whispers in his mind, Azriel’s concentration was fraying, becoming lost to sensation as Emmaline grasped handfuls of his hair. It was no surprise, then, that he missed the telltale sound of clothing being discarded and cat-soft footsteps on the carpet behind him, his shadows unable to break through the haze of his arousal. A flash of amusement from Rhys was his only warning, but even that couldn’t have prepared him for the finger trailed purposefully down the membrane of his wing, eliciting a gasp as he nearly jumped out of his skin. Rhys chuckled, low and dangerous, and Emmaline looked up at them to see what had caused such a reaction.

Azriel closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as Rhys did it again, near the edge of his wing where Emmaline could see. Her eyes danced with delight as he trembled before gaining control of himself, willing the aching throb at every brush of Rhys’s fingers to _cool it_ as he buried his face between Emmaline’s legs once more. Now that he was expecting it, the touch on his wings was no longer overwhelming, but it still took all of his concentration to focus on the female in front of him.

 _“I wonder if I could get you to finish before she does,”_ Rhys mused, as Azriel redoubled his efforts with his tongue, making Emmaline arch off the bed and tighten the fingers in his hair. _“I bet I could,”_ Rhys continued. _“All I would have to do is find the right spot.”_

Azriel kept his mind carefully blank, refusing to focus on the area of his wings he knew was most sensitive, but his efforts were for naught as Rhys’s hands wandered. Instead of staying on the membranes, those wicked fingers trailed up the slender bones between them, making their way to the top ridge. He tensed involuntarily as Rhys neared the base of his talons, knowing that his reaction gave him away, but Emmaline was panting and moaning beneath him and he refused to be distracted from her pleasure. He sent two of his shadows to wrap around Rhys’s wrists, halting him before he could reach that most sensitive spot, and heard the High Lord’s dark chuckle again in his mind.

 _“So, your talons, then,”_ Rhys murmured, sending Azriel the same image as before, but this time Azriel’s wings were angled forward and Rhys’s mouth was on one, his tongue flicking over the sensitive base of one talon. Azriel’s erection was almost painful within the confines of his pants, and he screwed his eyes shut as Emmaline’s legs suddenly closed around his head. Her body convulsed with her climax and Rhys mercifully retreated, allowing Azriel to work her slowly through the aftershocks as she came down from her high.

Pressing a last kiss between her legs, Azriel pushed himself up to his feet and turned to face Rhys. The High Lord had already stripped, and the evidence of his arousal was obvious as Azriel took him in through narrowed eyes. _“You’ll pay for that,”_ he thought, and Rhys’s lips curled up as he stepped around the shadowsinger toward the bed.

 _“I’m counting on it,”_ he replied as he urged Emmaline up toward the center of the bed, settling over her as her arms came up around his chest.

 _“Where are your wings, then, Rhys?”_ Azriel taunted as he pulled off his shirt, Rhys having taken care of the buttons for his wing slats sometime during his “exploration”.

 _“Not now, Azriel dear, we have company,”_ Rhys countered, and Azriel snorted to himself at the term of endearment. A familiar bottle of oil appeared on the bed as Azriel finished undressing and he scooped it up as he situated himself behind Rhys, who was now buried to the hilt in Emmaline and making long, slow thrusts into her. He uncorked the bottle, spreading the liquid liberally over his fingers, and positioned one just at the opening of Rhys’s rear entrance, so every time he thrust into Emmaline he also rocked back onto Azriel’s hand.

Rhys let out a low, appreciative moan, and Azriel caught Emmaline’s eyes over his shoulder. She grinned as she trailed her hands down Rhys’s back, grabbing at the globes of his ass and spreading them slightly to give Azriel better access. The shadowsinger took the opportunity to sink his finger in all the way, spreading the oil around as he withdrew, then added another. Emmaline winked at Azriel as Rhys hissed through his teeth, burying his face in her neck as the movement of his hips stuttered. Azriel hurriedly finished working Rhys open, desperate now to get inside him.

When he felt reasonably certain that Rhys was ready, Azriel withdrew his hand and opened the bottle again, coating his hard length in the oil before shuffling closer so he could line himself up with Rhys. He nodded to Emmaline, who tightened her grip on Rhys and forced him to be still, then slowly pushed in, inch by inch, pulling a guttural groan from the High Lord’s throat. He paused once fully seated, allowing Rhys time to adjust, then gently withdrew and thrust in again, setting a steady pace as he leaned forward to close the gap between his chest and Rhys’s back.

 _“Do you like that, Rhys?”_ he thought as he rolled his hips forward, making sure his mental shields were still open. Rhys’s answering groan brought a small smile to Azriel’s lips, but he pressed on. _“Tell me how it feels,”_ he insisted.

 _“Fuck.”_ Rhys’s mental voice was breathless. _“So good, Az.”_

 _“You aren’t neglecting the lady, are you?”_ Azriel teased. _“I would hate to have to punish you for disappointing her,”_ he continued, echoing back Rhys’s words from earlier.

Rhys groaned, and Azriel nearly swore aloud as the muscles around his length tightened and Rhys shifted to bring a hand between his and Emmaline’s bodies. Her breathy moan told Azriel that Rhys’s hand had found its target, so he gradually started increasing the pace of his hips, burying himself deep in Rhys’s ass and rocking him into the female below them both. All three of them were panting, the sound mixing with the slap and slide of skin on skin and occasional groan to fill the room with the evidence of their pleasure.

Azriel slammed into Rhys as he felt the other male begin to tense, truly fucking him as the High Lord neared his climax. His gaze once again met Emmaline’s over Rhys’s shoulder, and as he raised his eyebrows she leaned up and delicately bit down at the junction of Rhys’s neck and shoulder, never breaking eye contact with the shadowsinger. Rhys shuddered, his hips pumping erratically as he hissed a mental _“Fuck you,”_ to Azriel and spilled into Emmaline. The ends of Azriel’s lips curled up as Emmaline sucked at Rhys’s skin, soothing the bite and creating a dark purple mark before releasing him.

 _“What was that you said about finishing first?”_ Azriel taunted, but his mirth at Rhys’s expense was short-lived as Emmaline, wicked mischief dancing in her eyes, reached up and dragged her hand down his wing. “Shit,” he said aloud, his own movements faltering as he snapped his wing out of her grasp, and her answering throaty laugh had him fighting to hold back his own release. In retaliation, he wrapped two shadows around her wrists, pulling her arms straight over her head and drove harder into Rhys, who hadn’t stopped moving in Emmaline even in the throes of his climax.

She gasped, her eyes falling shut, and Azriel allowed himself to let go, chasing his own high with frantic thrusts of his hips. Rhys lowered his face to Emmaline’s neck, evidently returning the favor, and her moan at the scrape of teeth on sensitive skin was Azriel’s undoing. He stilled for a moment, relying on Rhys to continue the motions for both of them as he found his release, and moments later Emmaline joined him with a long, shuddering sigh.

Azriel barely waited for his own pleasure to subside before rolling off of Rhys and onto the bed beside the other two, not wanting to collapse atop them. He had his shadows release Emmaline’s wrists, taking them in his hands and rubbing small circles with his thumbs where the restraints had been, though they left no imprints or marks. Rhys rolled onto Emmaline’s other side, and for a moment the three of them lay there, catching their breath after their exertions.

At last Emmaline’s dark eyes opened, meeting Azriel’s as she gently pulled her wrists from his grasp, cupped his face in her hands, and planted a tender kiss on his lips. She rolled over to do the same for Rhys, then, to Azriel’s surprise, she crawled to the end of the bed and stood, stooping down to gather her discarded clothes.

“We must have been truly disappointing if you don’t want to stay for round two,” Rhys said, his tone light and teasing, but Azriel heard the undercurrent of concern.

Emmaline grinned at them over her shoulder as she tugged on her breeches. “Not at all, and as much as I wish I could stay, I do have a ship to catch.” She looked them over, both lying naked on the bed and staring up at her, and a sly smile made its way up her face. “You have round two without me.”

Rhys sprang to his feet, ever the gentleman, and crossed the room to where he had left his own clothes. “At least let us accompany you to your ship,” he said, pulling on his pants as well, and Azriel rose from the bed to do the same.

“Thank you, but that isn’t necessary,” Emmaline insisted as she finished dressing. “I enjoy walking alone through the cities I visit, and besides, I think you two have some unfinished business.” She winked as she strode for the bedroom door, and Rhys, half naked, trailed her out. Azriel stayed frozen in place, unsure whether to follow, and heard Rhys walk with her down to the front door.

“The city is very safe, you should be fine walking alone,” he was saying as they crossed the foyer. “And you know where to find us next time you’re in town.”

Emmaline laughed, thanking Rhys for a great time, then Azriel heard the front door open and close. He sat back on the bed, still nude, as Rhys’s footsteps sounded in the hall, looking up as the High Lord himself reappeared in the doorway. “I’ll be very disappointed if you tell me you’re not interested in a round two either,” Rhys said, raising his eyebrows, and Azriel felt a lick of desire curl low in his stomach once again.

He raked his gaze over Rhys’s frame, taking in the long, lean muscles and delicately swirling tattoos, and felt himself begin to harden once more. “I never want to disappoint you,” he replied, raising an eyebrow of his own, and Rhys’s answering grin was enough to set his heart pounding.

Rhys crossed the room in a few short strides, vanishing his trousers with a wave of his hand along the way, and pushed Azriel back onto the mattress, straddling his hips as their mouths crashed together in a battle for dominance. Rhys’s hands wound their way into Azriel’s hair and over his shoulders, never stopping in one place for too long, until they found their way back to his wings. Azriel broke their kiss with a sharp hiss, shooting Rhys a glare of mock annoyance, which Rhys returned with a wicked smirk.

“For round two, I want to see just how sensitive those talons of yours are,” Rhys murmured, sending a shiver down Azriel’s spine. Azriel groaned in response, shifting his hips up against Rhys, but the predatory gleam in the High Lord’s eyes told Azriel that he was fighting a losing battle.

“Fine,” he relented, and Rhys’s grin widened.

“Oh Azriel,” Rhys practically purred, bringing his lips down to Azriel’s once again. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're approaching the end - just 2 chapters left! Thanks so much to everyone who's been leaving comment and kudos, they mean the world to us!


	5. Heartache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long day of celebrating the Summer Solstice in the Day Court, Mor leaves the ball with Helion, and Azriel seeks out Rhys for comfort. Something has been bothering Rhys for the past few years, though, and it finally comes to a head.

**Rhys**

The enormous ballroom in the Day Court palace had been thoroughly bedecked in white and shimmering gold to celebrate the Summer Solstice. The revelries in the city had begun with the rising of the sun and had lasted all day and well into the night. I had to give it to Helion - the High Lord knew how to throw a party.

The staff had likely spent the better part of a week just decorating the giant space, and hundreds of guests milled about, finding various entertainments in the palace. A group of musicians sat in one corner of the room, playing for the dancers, and had long-since transitioned from traditional pieces to more contemporary music. Despite the near-boundless vitality the citizens of this Court seemed to possess on the longest day of the year, the party _was_ finally starting to wind down, a few hours past midnight.

I’d lost track of all the females I had danced with hours ago. My eligibility as a powerful, unwed High Lord had obviously overridden the wariness of the first few, and after that, the others had been emboldened. I had known the names of some, and had learned and promptly forgotten the names of many more. Complete disinterest and a day spent drinking Helion’s fine vintages made their faces blur, one into another.

Azriel, Cassian, and Mor had been dancing together for most of the night, and Helion found many excuses to interject himself in their merriment. Innuendo laced his every sentence, and he found altogether too many excuses to touch them. A light press of his fingers to a forearm when he laughed at a joke, a hand on an upper back, a nudge of a shoulder, and smiles that contained a little extra heat. Between my own rounds of dancing, I had sought them out for conversation, grateful that we could all celebrate together tonight. So often, at least one of us would be away on Court business when parties like this one took place, so having them all here made the entire day that much more fun.

I hadn’t failed to note that look in Azriel’s eyes again tonight, though. He’d gotten a lot better about silently pining for Mor in recent decades, but sometimes it seemed easier for him to handle than others. Tonight, Mor was wearing one of her revealing red gowns that showed more skin than it actually covered, and all three of the males had a hard time ogling her without being obvious about it. As she laughed and danced, her face shone like the sun itself, and I could understand why they couldn’t look away. Azriel had been staring at her all night with his heart in his eyes.

I made certain to keep my casually cruel smile plastered on my face when I wasn’t talking with them. It was necessary to dance with some of the ladies for appearance’s sake, but I didn’t want any of them getting the wrong idea. A few of the boldest had none-so-subtly offered to share my bed, despite my coolness, and I had declined them. When I took lovers, they were always from Velaris. I didn’t mind my reputation outside of my true Court - it was carefully and strategically cultivated, after all - but I didn’t like having lovers who believed that side of me was real. 

I was tired and sweaty, my feet were sore, and I was ready to sleep. I searched the crowd to locate my friends again, planning to tell them I was heading to bed. It didn’t take long to pick out Cassian’s and Azriel’s wings among the milling bodies, but when I spotted them they were standing still, both gazing in the same direction. Cassian looked contemplative, but Azriel looked stricken. I followed their eyes across the room to see Mor, arm-in-arm with Helion, heading for the door.

At this hour, it wasn’t hard to imagine why they were leaving the ball together, and I felt a pang of sympathy for Azriel. I watched them, debating whether or not to seek him out tonight. I was always oddly affected when I could see that Az was in pain. From that very first night in Windhaven, there was a part of me that wanted to comfort him by showing him that he was worthy of being loved. There was another part of me though - a part that had grown slowly but steadily over the past few years - that found it harder and harder to be his consolation lover.

I hesitated a few moments longer before deciding to retire without saying goodnight. I passed revelers in the hallway, some having found places to sit or stand and chat. Others, those more bold or more drunk, found small alcoves in which to tryst. I did my best to keep my eyes fixed ahead and my steps quiet so as to help maintain their illusion of privacy. 

Back in my room, I gratefully shucked off my fancy clothes and draped them over a chair, heading for the bath. I enjoyed dancing, and I had worked up a sweat despite neither knowing nor caring who most of my partners had been. As I bathed, I considered my jumbled feelings about Azriel yet again, and whether I should do anything about them.

Until a few years ago, his unrequited love for Mor had never really bothered me. We’d never had any expectation of monogamy or romance between us. We had both taken lovers, and had maintained an unspoken agreement that we didn’t fuck when one of us was in a relationship. I had never been jealous, and that didn’t really seem to fit how I felt now, either.

When Az was aroused by _me,_ and I could tell that he was fully present in the moment, the sex was amazing. It was almost effortless to be with him. He always found new ways to make things exciting, and we’d both had ample opportunity to learn what the other likes. 

But a few years ago, he came to me after learning that Mor had taken a lover. It wasn’t the first time she had done so, but the serious ones were few and far between, and it hit him hard. I had comforted him with my body when words had failed me and, in doing so, had set a precedent I was no longer certain I could live with. I could tell that his mind had been miles away that night, even as our bodies were pressed against each other, so I took to avoiding him after he spent any amount of time with Morrigan. 

I was not in love with him, but it didn’t seem unreasonable to want the person sharing my bed to at least be thinking of me while doing so. For a long time I’d tried to just ignore it, and it didn’t happen often, but to know he was picturing someone else’s face hurt a little more each time.

After my bath, I went looking for my bag to retrieve a pair of my light undershorts. The palace was magically climate-controlled, like my palace atop the Hewn City, but at this point in the summer it was still uncomfortable to sleep in much more than underclothes. At home I wouldn’t sleep in anything at all, but it always seemed like bad form to sleep nude when staying somewhere as a guest. Each of us had packed an overnight bag, but either the palace staff or some type of domestic magic had tucked it away somewhere, _helpfully,_ and I was stuck checking drawers, searching for it. I cursed myself for tossing it on a chair rather than just leaving it in the pocket between worlds.

Before I found it, though, there was a soft tapping at my door. I strongly suspected who I would find on the other side, given the events of the evening, but I still opened the door cautiously, peeking out through a narrow crack. As predicted, Az stood waiting on the other side. He had changed his clothes, evidently having had less trouble than I did figuring out where his bag was stowed, and was wearing appropriately-light sleeping garments for the late summer heat.

I recognized the look on his face, and my heart sank. I still opened the door wider for him in invitation, though, stepping behind it to conceal myself from anyone who might still linger in the hallways at this hour. Most of the festivities were concluded, but the most energetic of the partygoers would keep at it until dawn. As I closed the door behind him, he took in my lack of clothing with a hungry sweep of his eyes. I had a towel slung around my waist, and nothing else.

Any hope I still had that he was only seeking me out to talk, or to drink, evaporated with that look. I wasn’t sure I could do this again; wasn’t sure I could stand the unfocused look in his eyes that would come later, and that meant he wasn’t actually seeing _me_ anymore. I silently cursed myself for putting off the conversation for so long. Each time this happened, I told myself it would be the last time. But once again, with him actually here in front of me and a desperate need painted over every inch of him, I found the words sticking in my throat.

The scent of his arousal invaded me, heating my blood as it always did, and I felt my body responding despite my reservations. The towel did nothing to obscure my reaction to him, and his eyes traveled back down my body to the tented fabric. He gave me a knowing look, and his posture shifted slightly to that stance I long ago learned to recognize as Dominant Az. I may be conflicted, but I still couldn’t help wanting him.

For now, at least, he was seeing me. Maybe this time, I could keep it that way.

Before he could gain the upper hand, I closed the distance between us and sealed my lips over his. If I didn’t let him take control, he was more likely to stay present with me. I claimed his mouth, kissing him deeply, tasting a sweet trace of wine that still lingered from the party. It only took a moment for his body to loosen, that dominance slipping away as I devoured him. I slid my fingers into his hair, locking him into my kiss, and my other hand pulled him tightly to me by the hip before sliding up his back, under his shirt, to curl lightly around the base of his wing.

I gloried at the helpless sound he made. I vanished his clothes with half a thought, letting them reappear on the floor by the bed. Az reached for my towel, flicking it easily off my hips to pool at my feet. Another thought had the oil in my hand and I tossed it onto the bed without breaking our kiss. I returned my hand to his back, tracing the curve where his softer skin met his wing, and he shivered beneath my touch.

He slid his rough hands up from my waist, gliding over the muscles of my sides and up across my chest. The familiar electricity of his touch thrummed under my skin and drew a soft growl from me - almost a purr. I finally broke away from his delicious mouth and drew in a shaky breath. To my delight, Azriel’s eyes snapped open to fix on mine and his breathing was equally ragged. 

I steered him backward carefully, keeping the length of his body pressed to mine, until his calves met the bed frame. With only a quick, mischievous grin for warning, I shoved him onto the bed and was rewarded when his eyes widened in surprise. He flared his wings as he landed, spreading them across the covers, and I took a moment to appreciate their delicate strength.

His mouth quirked up at one corner as he watched me, watching him. He pushed himself onto the bed a bit further, and the movement made the muscles of his abdomen bunch and ripple temptingly. I followed him onto the bed, crawling up over him to seat myself astride his hips. 

I rubbed my cock against his, enjoying the smooth heat of him and the little noises he made. I decided to work my way from one shoulder to the opposite hip with my mouth, nibbling and licking my way across those muscles that had tempted me a moment ago. I lingered at his nipple, laving it with my tongue before nipping it lightly, feeling the flesh pucker under my tongue. His back arched, pressing into me, and I gave him another nip before continuing on my downward trek. One groove at a time, I made my way lower, and enjoyed the slightly salty taste of his skin on my tongue. 

From his hip, I licked my way down the V line that led where I wanted to go, and he gasped at the first brush of my lips against the tip of his cock. I took him into my mouth just the way he liked it, licking my lips and keeping them pressed together tightly enough that he had to almost force his way in. He lifted his hips, feeding his impressive length into my mouth and I unleashed myself on his cock.

I bobbed my head slowly, then sped up and slowed back down again. Azriel loved it when it was unpredictable and varied. I played my tongue against the underside of his cock, fluttering, flicking lightly before retreating back up to the tip and swirling my tongue around. Az was groaning, clearly torn between gripping my hair or gripping the sheets between his long fingers. He settled for one of each, and the hand he fisted in the hair on the back of my head started to control the pace.

I relaxed my jaw and the back of my throat and he felt the shift in the pressure of my mouth, correctly interpreting my silent signals as he always does. He thrust his hips up, shoving into my waiting mouth, and the fist in my hair trapped me in place. He thrust again, the head of his cock shoving hard into the back of my throat, and I swallowed against my gag reflex. He moaned, and the sound dragged a matching moan out of me, rumbling into his cock and making him gasp.

He set a punishing pace, thrusting into my eager mouth and pulling down on my head, and I fucking loved it. When I was able to steal glances up at his face through my lashes, he had propped his head up with an extra pillow and his hazel eyes were burning, focused and locked onto the sight of his cock disappearing between my lips. That scorching heat in his gaze made my own cock twitch in answer, and I moaned again, the sound louder but muffled. 

I snuck my hand over the covers to grab the bottle that lay within easy reach, and I popped the cork quietly, upending some oil into my palm. I could tell when the scent reached Azriel because the timbre of his moaning changed, and I teased the tip of one oiled finger across his opening in response. His back arched up from the bed and he stilled his hips, relaxing the grip in my hair enough that I knew to reclaim my control there. I pressed my finger into him slowly, matching the pace of my mouth as I slid down his length to envelop him.

We’d done this enough times now that I didn’t need to be slow; the act of stretching him with my fingers was more erotic than it was necessary, but I couldn’t help myself. I just liked teasing him too much. I worked my finger in and out of him slowly a few times before adding a second and curling them, seeking that spot inside that I knew would make him see stars. When I brushed it, I was rewarded by a moan that was longer and louder than the ones that preceded it. Azriel made noise when we fucked, but he wasn’t very loud with it and I loved knowing how undone he was to let that sound loose.

I worked him with my fingers and mouth at the same time, making sure I hit that spot inside with each push, and he was panting, practically whimpering; short, sharp moans spilling from his lips that told me just how close he was getting. His inner muscles started to clench, and I popped my mouth off his cock, squeezing my free hand around the base and staving off his orgasm. I earned myself a growl of protest. 

He tried to pull my mouth back onto him but I resisted, slowing the pace of my fingers but stroking deep. He rocked against my hands, trying to get more friction, and I squeezed his base hard enough to be uncomfortable, helping push back the precipice of his release. 

When I felt his body relaxing, I brought my mouth back to his crown, capturing the bead of moisture that pearled there on the tip of my tongue, and I relaxed my grip on his base, sliding the hand up toward my mouth. I brought it back down again as I enveloped him, pushing deep with my fingers. All the air left his lungs in a silent whoosh and he threw his head back on the pillow, arching into my touch.

His shadows started snaking out around him, something that rarely happened anymore without his express intent, and my own ignored cock jumped again. I was so hard I was aching, burning to touch myself, but I needed both hands to finish dismantling him. 

I worked him faster, my motions edged with a roughness that I knew he craved from me. I angled my head to better see him, my cock growing impossibly harder at the sight of his muscles bunching as he heaved for air. He was moaning my name, and I drove him toward that peak again. His hand tightened in my hair, as though he suspected I would deny him again and intended to prevent it. But I had no intention of doing so.

His inner muscles clenched on me again, and his abs and thighs tensed. “Rhys,” he moaned, and this time it was a warning. I came down on him hard, sealing my lips tightly around him and shoving him as far into the back of my throat as I could. I twisted my fingers inside him, pressing hard on that magical spot, and he disintegrated.

His mouth opened as the first jolt of his orgasm slammed into him, no air or sound emerging as though they were locked in his body from the force of it. His legs jerked, and his wings twitched where they lay to either side of us, curving up slightly off the bed. I sucked him down greedily, swallowing quickly, and the sensation made Az jolt. His second spasm forced the long, loud moan from him, and the taste of him in my mouth and the wrecked sound he was making were about to make me come too soon. Keeping my fingers deep inside him, I quickly brought my other hand from his cock to my own, gripping my base hard enough to hurt, as I’d done to him. 

I swallowed every bit of his climax and slowly withdrew my fingers, basking in his raspy panting and the slight flush that bloomed on his chest, beneath the inky tattoos. He turned his shattered gaze to me, bringing his chin down, and I basked in that, too. He had _seen_ me the entire time, and I wanted more of it.

I tipped more oil into my palm, re-stoppering it with one hand and tossing it to the side, out of the way, and his glazed eyes widened as I fisted my cock and stroked, spreading the oil and making myself gasp. He was so gods-damned hot, still breathing hard and flustered, hair a mess on the pillow, body limp. I leaned up over him, unable to resist, and kissed him deeply. He groaned as he tasted himself on my tongue, and it sang to me. I snagged a pillow as I broke the kiss, pulling it with me as I leaned back to kneel between his legs.

He quirked an eyebrow at me, but drew up his feet to bend his knees and push, lifting his ass off the bed. I slid the pillow beneath him and took a moment to admire the sight of him, already spent and yet opening for me. I tapped my head against him and was rewarded to see that his cock, where it lay against his lower stomach, was already starting to get hard again.

I gripped his ass in both hands, angling him into the exact position I wanted, and then I drove myself into him in one hard thrust. He moaned, loudly, his cock ratcheting back to attention immediately as mine hit that spot inside on the first try, and I knew he was also over-sensitive from his orgasm. I tried to ease up on him a little, but my own erection had been wholly neglected and the hot heat of him enveloping and squeezing me frayed my sanity. 

I kept my grip tight on his ass, trying to use the leverage to lessen the force of my thrusts rather than pulling him harder onto me as I normally would, but my hips bucked of their own accord and after only a few strokes I was pounding into him, all restraint evaporated. I brought one hand around to reach for his cock, but I’d barely touched him before he batted my hand away.

“Too much,” he gritted out through clenched teeth, and I relented, gripping his hip instead hard enough it would likely leave a bruise. _Good._

I wasn’t going to last long, and I didn’t bother trying to hold off again. I locked my eyes on his, loving his blown pupils and the way his lashes fluttered as the waves of pleasure crashed into him and back into me. He moaned my name again, the needy sound caressing itself through my nerve endings, and it was my undoing.

My vision whited out as my orgasm crushed me with the force of a meteor. I spilled into him, shaking, moaning out something unintelligible as my body shuddered. I caught myself as I tipped toward him, bracing my hands to either side below his wings, and eased myself down to lay on his chest as my cock slipped free. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me, and I rested my head in the hollow of his shoulder, forehead to the pillow, just breathing the scent of him as my pounding heart slowed.

He knew my body well, and around the time that I started to feel like I could move my limbs again he rolled us, flipping over smoothly to lay on top of me, a little gleam in his eye. I must have looked surprised, because the corner of his mouth tugged up and he asked, “What, you thought I was going to let you do all the work?”

His words sent a tingle zinging through me, reawakening all the nerve endings that had only just finished quieting, and I felt the blood rushing back to my cock with a speed that only he inspired. He chuckled, low and dark, as he felt my body respond, and he dropped a sweet kiss on my lips before tracing them across my jaw and down my throat, sending little shivers through me.

He slid down and lifted off me, gripping my hip and starting to roll me over. “No.” The word was out before I even thought about it. I wanted - no, I _needed_ \- him to see my face. As much as I loved Az behind me, inside me, tonight wasn’t the night for that. He looked a little surprised but didn’t seem to mind, and he grabbed the oil where it lay to the side, popping the cork as he nodded.

He worked it over his cock, leaving the skin glistening, and my mouth dried as I watched his scarred hand sliding against the smooth skin. I knew he could tell I was impatient, and I knew we were both getting tired. It had to be close to dawn at this point and we had been awake and partying all day. I was honestly impressed that we’d managed so much already, but he had that effect on me. When he turned me on, it drove everything else away.

He coaxed me open with two fingers, spreading the oil and massaging it into me, and he watched what his fingers were doing with fierce intensity. His other hand played lightly over his cock, little teasing touches that I knew from experience would frustrate more than satisfy. Deeming me ready, he shifted his position between my knees and brought himself close to me, bringing his hands to my inner thighs and pushing them wider apart. I groaned, his frank appraisal of me making me feel more naked than my actual nudity, and then he released one thigh to guide himself into me, sliding in with more control than I had. 

He growled as my muscles clenched on him instinctively, and the sound sent another zing of electricity to my cock. He thrust into me with long, slow strokes, and caressed his fingers up my legs, playing over my hips before lifting them slightly, finding the angle that found that magical spot inside me, and shoving himself against it. I lost myself completely as he sped up, lost track of the sounds that I made as they wove with his and twined around us, riding the waves of pleasure he wrung expertly from me.

I felt myself building sooner than I would have expected given how recently I’d spent myself inside him, and he picked up his pace again, feeling the difference in my movements. His hand closed around my cock, stroking lightly, and my head tipped back despite myself, my eyes squeezing shut of their own accord as I tried to last just a little longer against the tidal wave that was rising inside me. 

He stroked and fucked me, and I knew I was losing the battle against my orgasm. I forced my eyes open to see his face, intending to watch his expressions as we came undone together. But his eyes were closed, brows furrowed in concentration, and I sadly recognized that look. I had no idea how he could blank out the fact that he had my cock in his hand, but that was the look that told me that, in his mind, I was no longer here.

I was too close, wound too tightly for the disappointment to stop my release, but it did dim it somewhat. The sight of him, even the sight of him blocking me out, was enough to topple me over the precipice and into the racking pleasure he drew from me. I shot onto Az’s hand and my own stomach, surprised there was still that much left in my body, and he moaned a very different sound as I felt the hot rush inside that signaled his release. I vanished the mess on my stomach out of habit, and Az rolled to the side, eyes still closed, to gather me against him and stroke his fingers down my back.

Something tiny in my chest fractured. He could take me apart with devastating effectiveness, as he had just demonstrated. He could bring me with him into dark places and show me how delightful the darkness could be. Tonight had been some of the best sex I’d ever had - not just with him, but with anyone - and suddenly it was too much to lie with him, to be held by him, when I knew he was imagining someone else in his arms. That he had imagined her, instead, at the end. 

I pulled away, backing up from him a few inches and sitting up. Before I could really plan the words, I blurted them out. 

“I can’t do this again, Az.”

He pushed himself up into a sitting position to meet my eyes, and I had to keep my gaze focused on his face. If I let myself admire his bare body, his smooth skin over hard muscle, I might lose my resolve. On his usually-impassive face, though, there was hurt and confusion.

“What are you saying?” he asked, his voice flat.

“I don’t mind that you love her, and I don’t even mind being the one you go to for comfort when she hurts you. But I can’t just be a body for you to fuck while you pretend I’m someone else. Especially not when I'm having some of the best sex of my life.” He flinched back as though I had struck him, and I winced. I hadn’t meant to put it so baldly, but once I started speaking, the words had just come out. 

“I’m sorry, Rhys. I didn’t realize…” he trailed off, shaking his head. He raked his fingers through his hair nervously. “It wasn’t on purpose. I wouldn’t use you like that.” He grimaced, and added, “Not consciously. I’m sorry,” he repeated, the words earnest and sincere.

I appreciated how quickly he’d recognized the truth in my words, and that he didn’t try to deny it. Even though I hadn’t believed it was something he did on purpose, it still helped to hear him say it.

“I know that, Az,” I said, in a more moderate tone. “I’m not mad at you. It’s been bothering me for a while now and I should have talked to you about it sooner. I just can’t keep doing this if it isn’t me you’re seeing.”

For a long moment, we just stared at each other. Azriel swallowed hard, but didn’t speak. My heart sank as I watched his eyes shutter. His only response was to nod, and then slowly slide out of bed to retrieve his clothes from the floor. He didn’t look at me as he donned the thin sleeping pants, then the shirt, his motions mechanical. It felt odd to sit on the bed and watch him dress like this. We’d had a few quick fucks over the years, but if we were in bed together at night, we always stayed. I wondered if I should get dressed too, until I remembered that I hadn’t found my pack before Azriel knocked. Rummaging around naked would be more awkward than this, so I settled for pulling the covers a little closer around my waist.

I wanted to explain myself better, but I waited until he was dressed, knowing he would feel less vulnerable. But once clothed, he stood there for a few extra moments, his gaze fixed on the floor. He held his body stiffly, shoulders tense, and I felt my heart squeeze. We loved each other, even if we were not _in love_ , and I hated knowing that this was hurting him. It was hurting me, too. 

He finally turned to look at me, and wary hazel eyes searched my face. Before I could decide what to say, he nodded again, as though confirming something to himself, and turned, taking a few steps toward the door. 

“Az?” I called after him softly. He paused, half-turning his head in a way that told me he was listening, but that still obscured most of his face. “I don’t want this to be the end. Just… give it some thought. When you’re confident that your mind won’t wander, let me know.”

A few heartbeats of silence stretched between us, and he didn’t answer. Then he walked stiffly to the door, letting himself out without a backward glance. The door clicked softly shut, but I imagined a finality in the sound that made me uneasy. 

I braced my elbows on my knees and put my head in my hands. I’d handled this poorly, and if I knew Az at all, he was going to take it hard. After putting it off for so long out of a desire not to hurt him, I had blurted it out in the worst way possible, at the worst possible time. There was so much left unsaid that I could only hope he understood.

* * *

Azriel and I slid seamlessly back into a casual, comfortable friendship, for which I was immensely grateful. Weeks passed, then months, and finally years. I occasionally debated with myself, wondering if I should approach him and try to voice all the unspoken words that still hung between us, but there never seemed to be any opening. He gave no hints, no sly glances, no charged tension between us. He behaved as though we’d never touched each other, and so good was his acting that some days it was enough to make me wonder if I could have imagined everything that lay behind us.

I dealt with my regrets, and eventually I let them go. I let him go. 

Fifty years passed this way before I caught a gleam in Azriel’s eyes that gave me a little reason to hope. He smothered it quickly, but it had been there for a moment when I caught him looking at me. He still didn’t come to see me, but his relationship with Mor had been evolving in recent years and I suspected he was beginning to truly make peace with the impossibility of ever being with her. I allowed myself a little spark of optimism that maybe, if I gave him enough time, he might still find his way back to my bed some day.

I carried that little spark of hope with me to a party Under the Mountain where I planned to finally kill the bitch who had tortured me all those centuries ago. She didn’t even seem to remember who I was. I carried the memory of Azriel offering to help me heal when I was back home; when my body had been whole again, but my spirit had been in tatters. I had insisted none of them accompany me, but I carried Azriel’s strength with me like a talisman.

Under the Mountain, that little spark went out.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading - let us know what you think!
> 
> Bonus: Can you guess which chapters each of us wrote? :)


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